The Snake, the Lion and the Ripper
by Lady Hero of Lorien
Summary: Duels between Gryffindor Oliver Wood and his nemesis Slytherin Darcy Harris have always been commonplace until one day, a spell goes horribly awry. The two find themselves in Victorian London and not only do they seem to be stuck there but Jack the Ripper is on the loose. Can they survive each other? More importantly, can they survive Jack? OW/OC
1. Chapter 1

-1-

"Not again!" sighed an exasperated Hufflepuff amid the crowd gathered just outside the doors of the Great Hall.

Darcy Harris dodged an incoming curse. That one had looked particularly nasty. She grinned as she responded with a bellowed " _Tarantallegra_ "! She started to laugh as Oliver Wood's legs started to dance uncontrollably without his permission. Other Slytherins around her egged her on. Uttering " _Finite_ " to end his dance the Quidditch captain retaliated with " _Locomotor Mortis_ " wherein Darcy's legs locked together and she fell to her knees on the flagstone floor. At this many of the on-looking Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors cheered loudly to see a Slytherin brought down. Darcy quickly muttered the counter-curse to unlock her legs and regained her footing.

 _Wood had this coming_ , thought Darcy. She and Wood had bumped into each other in the entrance to the Great Hall on their way to the third feast of the new school year. She sneered at him and was about to go to her table when some lower-year Ravenclaw had inadvertently given her a bit of a shove, eager to get to his supper. Turning and seeing Wood directly behind her, Darcy figured he had been the culprit. Curse words were traded between the two quickly followed by actual curses and hexes. At first Oliver had been determined to take the high road and ignore her taunts but her first curse had destroyed that determination. A circle of onlookers had formed around the Gryffindor and the Slytherin and had rapidly grown to include all four houses.

Although it was only the third day of term, this was by no means an exceptional event. Duels and skirmishes between the two had been commonplace throughout their first six years at Hogwarts. Despite Oliver Wood's attempts at indifference and rational thought, Darcy Harris always had a way of provoking him into a fight.

 _They had met six years ago on their first day of classes at Hogwarts; a double Potions lesson attended by Slytherins and Gryffindors. As part of a pureblood family, Oliver had been informed about the rivalry between the two houses by his parents but was determined to be likeable to everyone. He had been sitting with his house partner; Darcy was across the aisle to his right. She caught him looking at her and tilted her head in the most coquettish way an eleven year old could. She was pretty and she knew it. She had often been praised for her long, dark red hair and bright green eyes. Oliver gave her a smile that often resulted in pinched cheeks at family gatherings. Snape, who had been having a particularly bad day, had been giving them his start of term lecture, stalking between the rows of desks. Oliver knew he should have been paying attention but the pretty girl next to him was so much more appealing than the hook-nosed potions master._

 _He leaned across the aisle and whispered, "I'm Oliver Wood. What's your name?"_

" _Darcy Harris," she whispered back, "You're a Gryffindor, right?"_

 _Oliver hesitated as he eyed Snape's progress through the dungeon. He was getting closer._

" _Come on, you can tell me!" Darcy urged, also noting with satisfaction that Snape was nearing them._

 _Oliver was about to answer her when he noticed the classroom was oddly quiet. He looked up to see that Snape was glaring down at him with his black eyes._

" _If you must persist in ogling Miss Harris I suggest you do it outside of my class," Snape said in his slow drawl._

" _I wasn't ogling professor, honestly!" Oliver told him in fear._

" _I wouldn't advise contradicting a professor on your first day of class," said Snape, "Especially when you are contradicting the obvious."_

 _Oliver saw Darcy snigger to her friend beside her._

" _Is Mr. Wood bothering you, Miss Harris?" Snape asked Darcy._

" _Yes professor, I was trying to listen to your lecture but this boy was talking," Darcy gave a convincing - yet completely false - upset look. Snape almost managed a grin._

 _Snape rounded on Oliver again. "Let this be an example to all your fellow Gryffindor classmates on how to behave in my classroom: twenty points from Gryffindor for failing to pay attention." The potions master felt his bad day get just a bit better._

 _There was a collective gasp from the house in question while the Slytherins all sneered or laughed quietly but none so prominently as Darcy. He heard her mutter 'Stupid Gryffindors. I bet he's a Muggle-born' to her partner. Oliver felt betrayed by the smug red-head but also angry that she had let him take the blame and then had the audacity to laugh at him for getting him in trouble. That was how Darcy had become one of the most notoriously disliked Slytherins of their year (and a hero to her house) and how Oliver had become a martyr for Gryffindor. They had had the same wonderful relationship ever since._

Out of the corner of her eye Darcy saw that Marcus Flint had shoved his way to the front of the audience and had drawn his wand.

"No Flint! He's mine!" Darcy snarled.

Flint, pulling a face as close to a pout as he could manage, sheathed his wand and stepped back but kept giving Darcy new and inventive ideas for hexes to aim at Oliver as well as creative places to point her wand.

Oliver saw her distraction and aimed a " _Stupefy_ " at her as she dodged it. A second year Ravenclaw boy who had foolishly stood behind her got hit and would have crumpled to the floor had other students not caught him. Darcy smelt burning hair and looked down to find that a good-sized lock of her prized red hair was lying on the stones; it had been singed off by Oliver's Stunning Spell. Outraged and slightly impressed that Wood had actually sent such a vicious spell at her, she was too late to duck an " _Expelliarmus_ " as her wand flew from her hand and out of the ring of observers.

Infuriated but not quite defenceless – she still had her fists – Darcy hurtled towards Oliver and readied herself for impact, preferably in a painful way. Just as she collided with him, Oliver cried " _Historia Preferentum._ "

A blast of electric purple light engulfed the duelling pair and hit Darcy full force just as she had grasped the front of Oliver's robes. The two felt a sort of jolt behind the navel akin to that induced by a portkey only several times more painful as if an invisible hand was trying to rip out their innards from behind. There was a feeling of their feet leaving the ground accompanied by the dizzying swirl of purple light and wind whipping past their faces, almost like hundreds of Firebolts whizzing around them. Darcy squinted, grabbing another fistful of Oliver's robes with her other hand, and buried her face in Oliver's shoulder to shield herself from her own hair that was thrashing about her head. She hoped it was whipping Oliver in the face.

Their feet hit the ground with such sudden force that their knees buckled and they fell to the ground. Darcy first noted the cold, wet cobblestone beneath her. She then heard something that sounded suspiciously like horseshoes clopping. Trying to steady her racing heart she took several deep breaths. She realized she had Oliver's robes in a death grip so she pried her seized fingers away and gave Oliver a bit of a shove out of her personal space. Moving the curtain of hair from in front of her face, she looked up slowly. By the lighting, she guessed it was either dawn or dusk. It was dark and smelled vaguely of smoke and damp earth. They were in a narrow alley flanked by high brick walls.

From beside her Darcy heard a moan. She looked over to see a dizzy Oliver Wood.

"What the hell?" he mused, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"Wood. Welcome back to the world of the living," Darcy drawled, "Wherever we are. Where in Merlin's name did you send us?"

"Send us? I didn't send us anywhere," Oliver stated, confused.

"Well this isn't bloody Hogwarts!"

Oliver got up and steadied his spinning head by placing a hand on the brick wall. He started walking towards the light at the end of the alley stumbling on the uneven stones beneath him. Darcy watched him from her spot on the ground. She saw him peer out of the mouth of the alley and look both ways. He calmly turned around and walked back to her.

"Well?" Darcy demanded impatiently, wondering what he had seen.

Oliver, pale-faced with a blank look in his eyes, stayed silent and pointed to the alley, indicating that Darcy should go and look. She made her way to the end of the alley and her eyes went wide at what she saw.

 **A/N: Hey, reader! Welcome to the story! I truly hope you enjoy this story. As you read its contents, please bear in mind that I started this story when I was 16 years old and some of it is not up to my current standards. A decade later, I have finally finished it! (This is why I don't post a story until it's finished.) I'd be so grateful if you'd review! Even if it's just a few words to say if you like it or if you don't.**

 **Now for the legal disclaimer:**

 **I have no claim on the character of Oliver Wood. He is the property of J.K. Rowling and was played by the talented Sean Biggerstaff. I have borrowed him for my story and I hope I do him justice.**

 **I have also borrowed all spells and some elements from the Harry Potter books, again the property of J.K. Rowling.**

 **I have no affiliation with the Harris family who are a real family of the British Peerage. All facts about the Harris family are true to the extent of my research and if any member of the Harris family should stumble upon this story, I hope they'll be pleased.**

 **Darcy is, in fact, my own creation and is not a part of the actual Harris family.**


	2. Chapter 2

-2-

Darcy Harris poked her head out of the alleyway. A narrow, crooked street lay before her. Finely outfitted horses pulled carriages while other workhorses pulled carts filled with everything from vegetables to dung. Men dressed in top hats, waistcoats and cravats carried walking sticks while the elegant ladies accompanying them wore elaborate corseted dresses trimmed with extravagant lace and yards and yards of fabric gathered behind them in a bustle that gracefully trailed on the ground. Their hair was curled and pined up in intricate designs. Some wore silk bonnets or flowers. The poorer people wore plain clothes in muted colours with little to no embellishments. Some young girls sold artificial flowers made of silk or chiffon to the fine ladies on the street.

Oliver stayed hidden in the shadows. His heart beat erratically. What was this horrible place? Where was he? What in Merlin's name was going on? He slowly headed towards Darcy, knowing that this had to be her fault somehow.

"What's going on?" was all he could manage.

"You really have sawdust for brains, don't you?" Darcy stated, pacing around.

"Would you kindly step out of character and stop with the attitude for just one second and tell me why everyone is dressed like that?" he made wild gestures with his hands in the direction of the street.

Darcy's eyes held a manic look that made Oliver wary.

"You cast the _Historia Preferentum_ spell! I don't know how a simpleton like you did it seeing as it's incredibly advanced magic, not to mention highly illegal."

"Stop insulting me already! What does it do?" Oliver felt exasperation creeping in.

"It's a wonder you made it to seventh year," Darcy muttered, not caring if he heard. "This spell sends the other person into the past; their favoured historical period to be exact. You sent us back to the Victorian Era! This is going to be bloody awesome!" she enthused, still staring out the alley and seeing everything she'd ever read about come to life.

"Look, I don't know what happened but even if I did what you're suggesting then why am I even here?"

"Because I grabbed your robes when you hit me with your curse and I must have dragged you with me," she explained, tearing her eyes away from the bustling street to look at him, "You probably mispronounced the spell. Leave it to you to get your words mixed up. At least I can cast proper spells!"

"Would you just shut up? How do we get back?" She was already making his head hurt.

She gaped at him with an incredulous expression.

"Why would you want to go back?" she gasped, "This is _brilliant_!"

It was his turn to gape at her. Oliver didn't like this. Not one bit. He had no idea where he was and he definitely did not want to be _anywhere_ with Darcy Harris.

Oliver went to retrieve his wand that had fallen from his grip upon their arrival. Two minutes with her in an alley and he already wanted to strangle her. He pointed his wand at Darcy.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking slightly alarmed.

"I'm sending us back," he told her with a very obvious 'duh!' tone.

"No! Not yet! We just got here!" she stamped her foot and glared at Oliver.

"Fine! Then stay here!" he snapped.

"Fine with me," she glared again and crossed her arms. She took a few steps away. Oliver looked at her expectantly.

"What are you staring at?" she asked impatiently, "Off with you!"

"Harris, aren't you forgetting about how you're supposed to get home?" Oliver asked her.

"I have my own wand you pillock!" she rolled her eyes.

"Merlin, you are so thick," he muttered, "Your wand's back at Hogwarts. I used _expelliarmus_ on you."

Darcy, who reached into her robes to grab her wand to show him she still had it and prove him wrong, realized she was grasping at thin air. She felt her stomach drop as she started searching her robes frantically.

"Where is it?" she cried, now clawing at any possible place on her person where her wand could be concealed.

"Why don't you look up your arse?" Oliver sneered, "It would explain your attitude problem."

"This isn't funny, Wood! I need my wand!" her panic now apparent.

Oliver, fully ready to get out of this predicament with or without her, readied himself to speak the spell that might get him home to Hogwarts but stopped. He couldn't just leave her here. Damn his manners. He sighed loudly.

"Come on," he gestured towards Darcy, "I can't leave you here."

Darcy tried one more time, "Can't we just stay for a little while?" She gave her best injured puppy look. Oliver had to admit that the girl had the persuasive look down to an art.

"Don't give me that look. We're leaving. _Now_."

"But you don't even have the counter-curse," Darcy observed.

"It doesn't matter. I'll just try different things until it works." Oliver wore his patented Determined Quidditch Face. Darcy dared not cross him when he was in Quidditch Mode. Although she delighted in nothing more than tormenting Wood, six years of experience had taught her when to back off.

"What if you send us to the wrong era?" Darcy blurted, almost managing to sound civil. She didn't want to anger the Scotsman more than necessary.

"I won't," Oliver wished he felt as certain as he sounded.

Darcy huffed but shuffled over to Oliver and took hold of his offered arm.

"Such a gentleman," she told him sarcastically.

Oliver took a deep breath and clearly spoke " _Historia preferentum_!" They awaited the purple flash of light from the end of his wand but nothing appeared; the pair's feet stayed put. He tried it again, panic creeping into his voice. Again, nothing.

"It's not working. Why isn't it working?!" Oliver asked the heavens. He tried at least fifteen different combinations of words before Darcy lost count and got bored. At last, Oliver gave up.

"Darn. I guess we'll just have to stay here!" Darcy announced far too cheerfully.

"Don't be stupid, Harris. We'll just walk out there and ask one of the nice witches or wizards to help us get back," Oliver started to march out of the alley.

Darcy, quick as a Nimbus 2001, grabbed the back of Oliver's robes and pulled him back into the alley and pushed him against the brick wall.

"You know, if you wanted a quick snog before leaving you just had to ask," Oliver smirked while assessing the situation. He wondered what it would be like if she _did_ kiss him. It wasn't even the first time he'd thought about it. She was, after all, the most attractive witch in Slytherin if not in all of Hogwarts. If it weren't for her holier-than-thou attitude, she might actually be desirable to someone other than Marcus Flint or some other Slytherin pureblood asshole.

Darcy glared up the five inch height difference between them. After having known the man for six years, she had to admit that he had grown into a handsome bloke. Tall, broad shouldered, dark brown hair and eyes and not to mention that Scottish brogue! She wondered at what point the gangly, awkward first year had turned into the attractive man before her. Of course, she would never admit that to anyone but herself. After all, there were many other males at Hogwarts that were more worth her time and she fancied herself quite the catch.

"As if I would ever think about snogging such a sorry excuse for a pureblood," Darcy spat with as much venom as she could muster. Actually, she'd thought about it many times when the usually firm grip she kept on her imagination had slipped.

"I know you want to snog me senseless, Harris," Oliver said just to irritate Darcy. By the looks of things, he succeeded. "Unfortunately, there's really no time for that at the moment," he smirked. "Now, if you'd just let me by..." he tried to push away from the wall but found himself still firmly pinned by the mentally unstable woman in front of him.

"You can't go out there." Oliver felt her grip on him get tighter.

"And why not?" he quirked an eyebrow.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Because we're in Muggle Victorian London."

Silence. She waited for a reaction. Oliver blinked. Well, it was a start. Then he spoke.

"Muggle Victorian London? Why, of all places, are we in _Muggle_ Victorian London? And what is _Victorian_ London?"

This was going to take a while. Darcy sighed loudly to show her annoyance.

"Because it's my favourite historical period and the spell you cast brought us here. If I'm right, we're in the year 1888 near the Whitechapel district of London."

He had no reaction to the significance of the date or area so she continued on.

"The Victorian era is the time that the Muggle queen Victoria reigned. As I'm sure even you've managed to notice, the fashion of the time is quite different. Women in this time are not even considered people. They cannot vote nor be in the company of a man who is not related to her by birth or by marriage unless a chaperone is present. In our current predicament, this might pose a bit of a problem."

Oliver snorted. "You sound like a textbook," he muttered. He wondered how Darcy Harris, the most outspoken woman he had ever met, could like such a misogynistic society.

Then he remembered the 'Muggle' part. "So you're saying that those people out there are Muggles?" Darcy nodded. Oliver sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

"There's something else you need to know," Darcy began, not quite sure how this would play out. She imagined it would be quite a lot to take in for a pureblood never exposed to Muggle life but she was enjoying how much knowledge she had. She was even more delighted that Oliver Wood, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, was absolutely lost.

"I told you we were probably in the year 1888 in Whitechapel. It's my favourite period because this is the year and the place where the entire Jack the Ripper murders occurred."

A blank look. Again.

"For Merlin's sake, don't you know _anything_ about Muggles?" Darcy threw her hands up to the sky.

Oliver looked at her sceptically. "I never took Muggle Studies and I'm sure you didn't either being a Muggle-hating Slytherin and all."

"Wood, you don't know a _thing_ about me," Darcy growled. She breathed deep again and continued her very abridged narrative.

"Jack the Ripper is one of the most famous serial killers of all time in the Muggle world. He was never caught and no one knows his true identity. Jack the Ripper attacked and killed at least five prostitutes and eviscerated them. He would remove parts of them. Usually it was the intestines and sometimes the uterus."

"Sweet Merlin," Oliver said disgusted.

"So," Darcy continued matter-of-factly, "I don't want to be stuck down any dark alleys for longer than I have to but I have no idea how we're going to get out of here without being noticed," Darcy indicated their school robes. "And it's not like we can magic ourselves into Victorian clothes seeing as your wand doesn't seem to work."

Oliver tried his wand again, this time saying _Lumos._ Nothing. Not even a faint glimmer.

"I don't understand why magic won't work here," Oliver mused shaking his wand as if that would make it work.

"I don't know either but how do we get out of this alley?" Darcy asked again.

Oliver took off his robe and tossed it in the corner. In his trousers and sweater he could possibly pass as a strange gentleman wearing odd clothes. In Darcy's case, her robe was showing ankle and her skirt was above the knee and was therefore totally scandalous and unacceptable. Even prostitutes weren't this scantily clad. She took Oliver's discarded robe as it covered her ankles and wrapped it tightly around her hoping it would at least resemble a dress.

Darcy thought long and hard at what their next move would be. Her parents had drilled their honourable past into her so she knew her ancestors had owned a townhouse in this time period but she couldn't recall the address for the life of her.

"Okay," Darcy told Oliver, "We need to find a particular townhouse. It's in Hanover Square. I'm not sure if that's close to here…wherever here is." Darcy peered back out of the alley for any clue as to where she was.

"What are you talking about?" Oliver asked, suspicious. Maybe he was dreaming. Harris had probably knocked him unconscious with a spell and he was out cold in the Hospital Wing dreaming strange things. But then, if Darcy Harris was in his dream it should probably be called a nightmare.

"You'll just have to trust me."

 **A/N: How is the story so far? Any comments? I'd love to hear them!**


	3. Chapter 3

-3-

"Do as I say, alright?" Darcy ordered. It wasn't a request. Oliver didn't bother disagreeing. He was still trying to process the time period and the fact that a maniacal serial killer was on the loose. He was just glad he wasn't a Victorian prostitute. He mentally checked himself: where had _that_ thought come from?

Suddenly, Oliver's face took on a pale countenance. A terrible – no, _bone-chilling_ – thought had just occurred to him. He looked at Darcy, grabbing her by the shoulders in a painfully tight grip.

"Harris. Does Quidditch exist?" his voice wavered.

Darcy rolled her eyes. She had wondered how long it would be until he broached the subject. _Of all the things to be thinking about…_

"I don't know, Wood," she told him honestly. She could see him starting to hyperventilate. "Wood! Calm down, for Merlin's sake!" She shook him hard by the shoulders, ready to slap him if she had to. "Let's think about this rationally," Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose. _I don't have time for this!_ Darcy thought. The light was already fading fast. "What year was Quidditch invented?" she asked.

"Invented? _Invented?!_ Quidditch wasn't invented. It _evolved_! It was crafted from years of being played. It grew to become the most glorious sport this world has ever seen!" his eyes seemed a bit glazed in Darcy's opinion.

"You're a nutter," Darcy cut into his reverie of green pitches and blue skies. Oliver glared at her.

"What year did you say this was again?" Oliver asked, starting to breathe a bit more normally.

"1888," Darcy told him for the third time, "Most likely," she added in a whisper.

Oliver heaved a sigh of relief. "Quidditch, as we know it, exists," he stated with conviction.

"Good. I'm _so_ glad that's cleared up. Now let's get the hell out of this alley and find my home!" Darcy commanded but inwardly flinched at the information she let slip.

" _Your_ home? Harris, either you're delusional or you're not telling me something. Seeing as it's you, either one is possible. Which is it?" Oliver blocked her way out.

Darcy avoided his eyes. He really didn't need to know and besides, it was in no way his business. She elbowed him out of the way and strode into the street determined to get to her destination.

"We just have to make sure we talk to as few people as possible," Darcy whispered to Oliver, "Who knows what damage we could do to history."

"Right, because I didn't know that already," sarcasm filled Oliver's voice as he rolled his eyes in irritation.

After asking as few people as possible, the two finally got directions as well as many, many stares and disapproving mutters, and found the desired townhouse.

Darcy hobbled up to the door on her tired feet – it had been a long trek – and rang the bell. A stately looking butler opened the door and peered at the pair in disgust.

"I'm afraid the Lord and Lady are not at home and therefore have no time or money to waste on ruffians such as yourselves," he drawled and shut the door on them. Darcy's mouth hung open in shock.

Oliver half-expected Darcy to somehow find a way to blame this on him. He did not expect what happened next.

Darcy again knocked firmly on the door. When it opened again and before the butler could utter a sound, Darcy lifted her head in a regal manner and spoke.

"I am the daughter of Lord Harris. I demand that you allow myself and my companion entry at this, my father's home. If you deny us, rest assured that my father shall hear of this affront and he shall dismiss you as soon as possible."

"Nonesense! The Lord and Lady have no daughter!" Again he barred the way inside.

"Where else would I have procured this, then?" Darcy held out her right hand. On her ring finger was the ring she always wore. It was silver and bore her family crest. It had been in Darcy's family for ages and since she was the eldest and only child of her family, it had been gifted to her.

The butler's eyes widened in surprise. "The Lord's signet ring!" he whispered.

Darcy ignored him and forcefully pushed her way past him. In their hurry to get in from the chill of the evening air and despite the late hour, they missed the movement of the curtains from the home across the street.

Oliver's own eyes widened at the sight in the foyer. It was a grand and ornate room furnished with plush red and gold furnishings reminding him of his Gryffindor common room. The herringbone parquet floors and side-tables gleamed, gas lamps were in sconces on the walls but what was most impressive was the chandelier that towered two floors above their heads. The crystal facets diffused the room with bright light and gave a slight tinkling sound when a particularly heavy carriage or cart rumbled by. An elegant, sweeping staircase curved around the room and led to a landing that wound all around the second floor.

He looked back at Darcy who was talking to the butler in the haughty manner with which she had always addressed him, her head held high.

"But how is it possible that the Lord and Lady have a daughter? They have never mentioned a daughter. Not even in passing," the butler took out his round spectacles to peer closer at Darcy.

"How long have you been in my parent's employ?" Darcy asked, holding her breath.

"Since September of last year," the butler said. Darcy felt relief at hearing this. Her lie might just work out.

"Then I am not surprised you would not have heard of me for I have been abroad most of my life. My father gave me this ring in the event that anyone should challenge my claim as a child of the Harris family," she eyed the butler pointedly.

"Of course Madam. We must praise Lord Harris' foresight," the butler bowed slightly when mentioning the Harris name. "Will your sojourn be of long duration?"

"I believe so. I have recently completed my studies in Brussels. As you most certainly know, Brussels have the finest of finishing schools," she looked at the butler expectantly.

For a split second the butler looked lost but then replaced his look with one of agreement.

"Oh, the very finest of schools, Madam," he acquiesced. Oliver walked over to them, listening curiously. Unbelievably, the butler seemed to be buying her story. "I do see the family resemblance and no one could doubt the authenticity of the heirloom," he added, indicating Darcy's ring.

"Mr…" Darcy trailed, waiting for the butler's name.

"Berkley, Madam," he provided.

Darcy smiled a charming smile, "Mr. Berkley, I trust that this unfortunate first encounter between us may be cast aside and it is my dearest wish that we may share this house as etiquette dictates." Darcy cut an intimidating figure despite her odd clothing.

Berkley bowed low with an, "Of course, Madam."

Darcy nodded in satisfaction.

Oliver watched this exchange with fascination. Was she using some sort of wandless magic on the butler to make him believe her?

"Mr. Wood and I will be eating in our chambers tonight," Darcy continued, "We are quite fatigued after our long journey from Brussels. Please have baths drawn for us and have the housekeeper show us to our rooms."

"Yes Madam, right away," Berkley assured her and hastened away.

Walking idly around the room, Darcy inspected an expensive-looking vase on a side table, looking quite at ease.

"How on Earth are you doing all this?" Oliver whispered following Darcy's progress around the room. He had to admit he was impressed by how well she was handling the situation.

"I'll tell you when we get upstairs," Darcy muttered, "Just try not to look so awe-struck, will you?" with a bit of a smile.

An elderly woman in a plain grey floor-length dress, starched linen cap and crisp white apron appeared from what looked like a parlour to the left. "Mrs. Wood, Mr. Wood, I am Mrs. Clay, head of the household. A pleasure to finally meet you," she smiled, giving a curtsey. Darcy stiffened at the use of the 'Mrs. Wood' title. Surely the old woman was confused. Nevertheless, she regally nodded her head. Oliver did the same, figuring it was safe to follow her lead.

"If you would follow me please?" Mrs. Clay asked, making her way up the stairs.

Darcy hid the smirk that threatened to appear on her face. Things were looking up!

"This is Madam's room," the housekeeper gestured to the second door on the left, indicating Darcy's room. She then opened the door adjacent to Darcy's, indicating that this was to be "Mr. Wood's room, sir."

"Thank you, Mrs. Clay," Oliver nodded, playing along.

"Your dinners will be up shortly," Mrs. Clay gave another curtsey and made her way down the stairs.

Darcy then made sure no other staff member was in sight and frantically motioned Oliver over to her. She quickly opened her door and pushed him into the room, shutting the door behind the two of them. She pressed her back against the door, breathing a sigh of relief and exhilaration.

"This is so fantastic!" Darcy threw Oliver's robe she had previously been wearing into the corner along with her own that she had kept on underneath. She ran to her ornately carved canopy bed, threw herself onto it and kicked off her shoes laughing giddily.

Oliver stared at her. She was seriously unbalanced...and also very alluring when she didn't have a sour look on her face.

"What is this place, how do you know about it and what in Merlin's name is going on?" he hissed, staring dumbstruck at the grandness and clutter of knick-knacks around the room.

"This place is owned by my great-great-grandfather, Lord Something-or-other Harris. I don't know much about him except that he was a baron. His title is now my Dad's," Darcy explained, now sitting up on the bed and slightly bouncing on it. "He was, obviously, very rich," Darcy gestured to the richly furnished room decorated in pastel shades of green clearly indicating that this room was decorated for a woman. There were oil paintings of pastoral scenes on the wall, a marble fireplace with a large mantle above it, a small table with two chairs, a _huge_ armoire, and a screen behind which one dressed oneself. She noticed that, oddly, there were no bedside tables. There were also two doors that led to other rooms. Presumably one was the bathroom. She had no idea where the other one led.

"Why did the butler believe you? Did you cast some kind of wandless spell on him?" Oliver found himself wondering if she had some kind of extra magical powers. He unconsciously took a few steps backwards towards the door.

"He believed me because I looked like I knew what I was talking about," she explained. "Lesson one of fitting in in Victorian society, _Mr. Wood_. Always, _always_ look like you know what you're doing and act like you're in charge. That way nobody will question you for fear of looking stupid. When I told Berkley that I was Lord Harris' daughter I made him feel like he should have known immediately who I was. He obviously didn't because Lord Harris doesn't even _have_ a daughter but he bought it because it sounded like I knew what I was talking about. It also helped that he's only been employed for one year. That part was pure luck. And I've been told I have the characteristically red hair of the Harris'. But really, the signet ring was the proof Berkly needed."

Oliver had to admit that what she had just done was more than a little crazy but definitely impressive. And yet, it made him a little uneasy at just how flippant she was talking about manipulating and deceiving someone.

Darcy wandered about the room and stopped before a portrait of a stately looking lady with the same red hair as hers. "This must be my great-great-grandmother," she mused. She looked to the painting next to it where a mature man with whiskers gazed out at her. "And this," Darcy spoke to Oliver, "Is most likely Lord Harris". When Oliver said nothing Darcy turned to look at him. He had his arms crossed over his chest and wore a nasty glare.

"What?" asked Darcy, honestly not knowing why he was so irritated.

"You expect me to believe your dad is a baron? You know as well as I do that magical families no longer hold titles. They were eliminated centuries ago. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"

Darcy winced but Oliver continued.

"And most importantly why are you _related_ to Muggles?" Oliver's face now sported an incredulous look. Everyone at Hogwarts knew Darcy Harris to be a merciless pureblooded witch who enjoyed tormenting Muggle-borns. It made absolutely no sense for her to have Muggle parentage. The idea that this was actually a very realistic dream was looking more and more plausible to Oliver.

Darcy heaved a sigh and sank into a plush mint green velvet chair. She worried her lip as she debated on whether she should lie or tell him the truth. She couldn't bear the thought of him knowing her secret; she had managed to hide it successfully for six years until this moment. She had hoped she might hide it for their seventh and final year. _But,_ she thought, _I don't see how we're going to get out of this any time soon so I might as well tell him_. She took a deep breath, stood from the chair and turned to face Wood.

"You have to promise not to tell this to _anyone_ ," Darcy said. Oliver noticed the pleading tone she had used. " _Ever_."

"As if I had a soul to talk to here besides you," he said in aversion.

"Please! Promise me!" she took a few steps closer. Oliver sighed.

"Fine. I promise I won't tell anyone of your secret," he said impatiently. He was tired and hungry and by Merlin he wanted some answers!

"... I'm a Muggle-born," Darcy whispered, apprehensively looking at the man before her.

Whatever Darcy had expected, it wasn't to hear Wood explode into laughter. She rushed the few steps left between them and covered his mouth, looking alarmed.

"Shut up! Are you trying to get caught? We're not married! You can't be found in my room!" she hissed and glanced at the door. She waited until Oliver had calmed down a bit before she cautiously removed her hand.

"Do you expect me to believe that _you_ , the _Slytherin Ice Queen_ , are a Muggle-born?" he chuckled. Darcy stood ready in the event that she would have to stifle him again.

"Yes. I don't see what's so funny," Darcy huffed. It was her secret shame and now her foe knew of it. If they ever got out of their current time period she vowed to Obliviate his memory. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought _do they really call me the Slytherin Ice Queen?_ hurt by the moniker.

Oliver saw the evident shame in her eyes and sobered immediately.

"Bloody hell, you're serious. But you hate Muggle-borns! You... You torment them! You're merciless!" he struggled to understand how no one in school had known about this for six years. _Six years!_

"I'm a Slytherin! Can you imagine what would happen if anyone found out? I'd be ostracized! I would have no friends!"

"You'd have friends in other houses," Oliver muttered. He felt slightly sorry for Darcy. She must have felt trapped into lying to everyone for years but at the same time, it didn't justify in the least that she had tormented others for being Muggle-born like her or for being an all around evil person.

Oliver thought about it for a moment. He had never considered the fact that a Muggle-born could end up in Slytherin. It made sense that Darcy's attitude was a form of self-preservation although he had no doubt that if someone was able to act the way Darcy did, they'd have to be a bad person to begin with. She didn't even address Muggle-borns with their first name. She always talked down to them and addressed them as "mudblood" when a professor wasn't within earshot. If a professor happened to be nearby, she simply denied their existence.

"The Sorting Hat would never put a Muggle-born into Slytherin," he challenged Darcy.

Darcy ran her hands through her hair. "I've thought about it a lot and I figure that even though the Sorting Hat has a quarter of Salazar's brain in it – which seems highly unlikely, not to mention gross – it also has three quarters of the rest of it from more compassionate founders and that's why it let me pick. I asked for it to put me in Slytherin.

"I knew nothing about the Houses until I got on the Hogwarts Express. I met a girl on the train who kept telling me how great Slytherin House was so I figured if she thought it was so fantastic, maybe it was a good house to be in and I asked the Sorting Hat to put me there. No one ever asked me about my blood status. They all assumed I was a pureblood. By the time our classes started I had learnt about the rivalry with Gryffindor and how important blood status was in my house... so I lied," she shrugged helplessly.

"Is that why you're so evil?" Oliver asked coldly, "Because you hate yourself?"

Hurt by his statement, Darcy felt anger swell in her and faced Oliver's gaze. "I learnt to lie convincingly to protect myself. If it weren't for me, you would be in the streets right now begging for scraps to eat. Now get out of my room before the food gets here and _do not_ let anyone see you," she commanded.

"Darcy Harris, you are one twisted piece of work," Oliver stated. Darcy narrowed her eyes in defiance despite her hurt feelings.

"Get out," she told him again frostily.

With one last look of disgust in her direction and not heeding her warning, Oliver flung open the door and made his way to his own room. On the way, he noticed two maids carrying trays of food to both his and Darcy's rooms. He briefly forgot all about Darcy as he smelt the wonderful aroma emanating from the tray being brought to his room.

 **A/N: This townhouse is real but I've never been. Creative license has been used for the interior.**

 **Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

-4-

Alone in their respective rooms, fires were lit, baths were drawn and food was consumed. Darcy mused, as the maid laid out her nightdress, that she should have felt a bit better by having her deep dark secret out in the open only she didn't because it was Oliver Wood she had told. She supposed it didn't matter much seeing as they were stuck here for a time but all the same, the way he had looked at her with such contempt had stirred up a feeling akin to guilt in her. She had no idea why, seeing as she had lied for self-preservation. After all, who was he to judge her? His opinions were of no consequence to her.

When the maid left, Darcy took the opportunity to look behind those two doors in her room. The first was indeed a bathroom that housed a large enamel tub that had just been filled with steaming hot water. She noted that there were hot water pipes that led to the bath. _Thank Merlin, indoor plumbing!_ It also had a tiled floor, a sign of her ancestor's wealth. Mercifully, there was also a toilet – she wouldn't have to use a chamber pot or an outhouse – and a sink that was made to look like part of the mahogany furnishings.

She then made her way to the next door. She turned the brass handle and flung it open. Her first sight was another bedroom furnished as richly as hers but in the more masculine dark green velvet. Her second sight was a shirtless Oliver Wood as he was about to walk into his own bathroom. _Wow! Quidditch really does do wonders for one's physique!_ She thought. Just then, Oliver turned around with a surprised look on his face.

"Sorry!" Darcy apologized, her voice sounded humiliatingly high-pitched and she quickly shut the door.

She noticed that there was no lock on the door. Why was there no lock on this door?! And why had the pair been given adjoining rooms? Unless... _No!_ Darcy thought. _Do the servants really think we're..._ she had trouble even thinking the word... _married?!_

Suddenly Mrs. Clay addressing her as Mrs. Wood made sense. She resisted the impulse to drag the armoire in front of the door. Wood was an honest bloke, wasn't he? Besides, he'd never want to be in Darcy's presence longer than necessary. She quickly made her way into her bathroom, trying to forget the implications of their rooming situation. Mercifully, there was a lock on this door and she shot the bolt home. Just in case.

Oliver still stood stunned as Darcy had shut the door with more force than was necessary. He shook his head and chuckled a bit. He had never seen Darcy look so flustered unless you counted the time in fifth year when the Weasley twins had sent her a Howler at breakfast. The message had accused her of doing naughty things with Percy Weasley in the Astronomy Tower in front of the whole student population in the Great Hall. Of course, these rumours were actually false but it was worth it to see Harris humiliated. Then again, it had backfired for the twins since Percy walked a bit taller after that, somewhat admired by the blokes who believed he had actually snogged Harris. It later became apparent that she hadn't been with Percy that night because she had a rock solid alibi that put her in the Slytherin Common Room while witnesses had seen Percy with Penelope Clearwater that night.

Oliver wondered why on Earth they would have been given adjoining rooms. Maybe all the other rooms were occupied? Still confused, he proceeded to remove the rest of his clothes, while eyeing that door cautiously, and stepped into his bathroom. As he sunk into the water up to his nose, he nearly choked on the water when he realized why they had a door between rooms. _Well, I certainly won't be using_ that _door at any time_ , he thought.

While in her bath, Darcy relaxed for the first time since she first arrived here. She forgot about Wood, about Jack the Ripper, about everything but the soothing hot water. After the water had turned cold she towelled herself off and walked to the bed where she saw what she would be wearing for the night and wondered how she wouldn't strangle herself with the copious amounts of lace that adorned the unappealing nightgown. Slipping into it and the bed (with a down comforter she noted, pleased her ancestors had at least as much wealth as her current family), she fell asleep almost immediately.

As Darcy and Oliver slept warm in their beds, Annie Chapman was walking the streets of the Whitechapel district of London, soliciting any man that came her way. She pulled her thin shawl a little tighter about her shoulders which offered little protection from the cooling September winds. She didn't care who accepted her proposition if it meant being in a warm place for at least a few hours.

She spotted a well-dressed man in a cloak and a top hat approaching. She briefly thought this a bit odd for the poorer Whitechapel area but shook off the chill that ran down her spine as he neared. There were all sorts there at night. She thought that he could be a well paying customer.

He stopped before her and simply asked "Will you?" to which she readily replied "Yes."

He led her to the isolated backyard of 29 Hanbury Street. As he turned to face her, her eyes widened at the sight of a long blade held by the man. She barely had time to scream "No!" as the blade descended on her as all her surroundings faded to black.

Darcy stretched in her luxurious bed, feeling quite well rested. It took her a moment to get herself oriented in her new surroundings but when she recalled what had happened only a few hours ago she smiled. True, she had been frightened when the spell that Wood had haplessly cast transported them to a strange place and time but Darcy was sure she would enjoy the Victorian lifestyle she had always longed to escape to.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a girl of about fifteen bustled into her room. The girl saw her awake and was nearly just as frightened.

"Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am!" the girl exclaimed with a cockney accent, wide eyed, "I did not think you to be awake at this early hour."

Composing herself Darcy asked "Early? What time is it?" and added, "Also, who are you?" though not unkindly.

The girl curtseyed and introduced herself as Mary.

"I'm the Lady Harris' maid and since she's not 'ere, I'm to be your maid and it's nearin' five o'clock, Ma'am! I didn't think you'd be awake yet," she repeated.

"I usually wake Lady Harris up at seven an' 'elp 'er dress," Mary stated, looking at Darcy a bit curiously. Darcy held in a groan. She was most definitely not a morning person and even eight was an ungodly hour despite her classes requiring her to wake up at seven (if she didn't decided to skive, of course).

"Well, I'm Darcy," she introduced herself but figured Mary already knew who she was. She stepped out of bed, noting with satisfaction that her nightdress hadn't tried to kill her in the night.

She noticed Mary stifle a gasp as she stood. Darcy looked around herself to see what was wrong.

Finding nothing, she asked "What's wrong, Mary?"

"You're just so tall, Ma'am!" Mary gaped, "I'm five foot and fully grown, I am!"

Darcy had never considered herself so very tall at five feet and eight inches. Then she compared herself to Mary's height and realized she had never known there was such a difference in height for the time period; she stood almost a head taller than Mary. _I must look like an Amazon,_ Darcy thought. After Mary recovered herself from her shock, she quickly went to the wardrobe and riffled through it.

Darcy suddenly realized she had brought no other clothes than what she had on her back.

"I'm afraid I have no dresses with me..." Darcy racked her brains for a reason as to why but came up empty.

Mary didn't question her – though Darcy thought she heard Mary say something along the lines that that was very strange – and pulled out a pastel muslin dress. After holding it up to Darcy, she mused "This might not fit you Ma'am. What's your waist size?"

 _Waist size? What kind of a question is that?_ Darcy wondered. How should she know what size her waist was?

"I... I don't know," Darcy admitted, looking down at herself. Just then, the doorbell sounded. _Saved by the bell!_ thought Darcy. As Mary left the room, excusing herself to get the morning tea, Darcy was suddenly struck by a horrible thought. Was she expected to entertain someone who came to call? She surely would have no idea what to do! Call for tea, maybe? That's what they did in the books and movies...

Forcing herself to breathe deep and calm down – she'd cross that bridge when she came to it – she walked to the wardrobe and looked at the dresses. Most of them seemed to be made of silks or satins, again due to the obvious wealth of her ancestors. She pulled one out and ogled the so-called "waist size" of what Darcy assumed to be a gorgeous blue evening gown. This dress couldn't have been more than eighteen inches around and several inches too short! _Was Lady Harris this tiny?_ Just as she was about to open the other door to the wardrobe, swift footfalls were heard before Oliver burst through their adjoining door and into her room looking panicked.

Darcy jumped at his sudden entrance, having totally forgotten about him. She looked him up and down in his nightdress and started to laugh. Never in a million years could she have pictured the well-built Quidditch captain in something so girly. At least there was no lace.

"Go on, then! Laugh it up!" Oliver grumbled, "I'll have you know I had no choice in the matter as I am _not_ going to sleep starkers in a strange bed."

Darcy raised her eyebrows a bit at Oliver's usual sleeping attire, or lack thereof. "I had you pegged as more of a boxers and t-shirt sort of bloke."

Oliver looked confused until he realized what he had said. He just shrugged. "Well you struck me more as...well, someone who had better taste than to wear that monstrosity that you're wearing."

"I should hope so," she snorted. "To what do I owe this visit? And don't you know how to knock?"

Oliver ignored her questions and started pacing, still agitated despite their banter. "I thought I would wake up back at Hogwarts to find this has all been some kind of realistic nightmare but I woke up this morning to some valet in my room who said she would be bringing me tea shortly. This is all real, isn't it?" he sank onto Darcy's bed with his head in his hands.

"Well it's no one's fault but your own if you aren't enjoying this!" Darcy informed him airily.

"You're psychotic if you think this is fun, Harris," Oliver told her, "We might be stuck here forever!" He jumped up and grabbed Darcy by the shoulders giving her a bit of a shake.

Darcy slapped his hands away. "What exactly do you expect me to do, Wood? Make this all go away?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

"Well, have you tried your wand again?"

"Yes, and it's still not working. I cannot _believe_ I'm stuck in a world without magic! And with you, no less!"

Darcy felt a bit insulted (she considered herself quite pleasant company) but silenced him as she heard someone – likely Mary – making their way up the stairs.

"Quick! Hide!" Darcy hissed.

"What? Why?" Oliver asked.

Instead of answering, Darcy just forced him under the bed telling him to be quiet. She heard him mutter something about her being "bloody insane" before her door opened revealing Mary and another stout, matronly woman. Why was everybody invading her room!?

Mary set down the tea and explained "I tried to get 'er to wait in the parlour but she insisted..." indicating the visitor.

Before Darcy had a chance to ask what was going on, the stout woman started on a long tirade.

"Oh my _dear_! It's so wonderful to see you! Lord and Lady Harris never mentioned they had a daughter and one so lovely as you! I expect they've been keeping you locked up to keep the beau's away! Well don't stand there gaping, let me have a look at you! Turn around, dearie, don't be shy! Yes, I was sure of it. You're a very handsome one indeed although a bit too tall!"

Indignant at the subtle insult, Darcy tensed up and asked this woman who she was, forcing politeness into her voice.

"Oh I'm sorry, dear! I'm Mrs. Faversham, I live just across from you here! I saw you and that young man come in last night and just _knew_ you must be a Harris from your grace and beauty, though I'm much surprised at Lady Harris never telling me a thing about such a lovely child as you! Pity your hair is so red."

Darcy's eyes widened at the blatant insult. She had gorgeous red hair!

Oliver, stuck under the bed, very nearly snorted at the comment about Darcy's 'grace and beauty' thinking that Mrs. Faversham would be shocked if she knew about the evil snake that lay beneath Darcy's pleasing exterior but smirked at the insult about Darcy's hair. Darcy's vanity was well-known at Hogwarts and he was in favour of anything that deflated her ego. He also wondered how someone could keep up such a stream of constant talk seemingly without pausing for breath.

"...I expect the Lord and Lady are away in India again, are they? And where was your baggage dear? I didn't see any with you, unless you had it sent on ahead..."

Darcy took this as her cue to finally cut in. She'd been thinking up a story since Mary brought it up.

"Well you see, Mrs. Faversham, my travelling companion Mr. Wood and I were arriving by coach on our way home from Brussels where I have been for most of my life at a first class finishing school when we were set upon by _thieves_ who took all our finery! I was quite distraught!" Darcy added that last bit just for the fun of it. It seemed like something a lady might say.

"You poor dears! I'm sure I would have simply _swooned_ at the thought of thieves making away with my belongings! And your hair! Part of it looks to be burnt off..." The stout woman prattled on.

Mrs. Faversham believed her story! Darcy's relief was short lived as her hand went up to the missing chunk of hair near the scalp and she hid a scowl. _Thanks a lot Oliver Wood._

"You must have new clothes bought immediately!" Mrs. Faversham declared, "As soon as you have eaten your breakfast, you must come with me to Oxford Street where we will visit the finest milliners and dressmakers in London!" Mrs. Faversham looked quite excited, ignoring Darcy's look of alarm. Shopping had never been her thing and robe fittings at Madam Malkin's were always an ordeal for her and her mother.

"And don't you worry about your husband! Mr. Faversham will be happy to take him to the finest tailors as well."

Darcy's and Oliver's eyes widened as large as saucers when they heard that word: _husband._ To hear it in such definitive terms made this all the more traumatizing.

Darcy felt her worst fears confirmed all the while being consumed with the almost irresistible urge to burst into hysterics. If this woman couldn't control her mouth with her, she had no doubt that this ridiculous talk of a husband would spread like wildfire. She had to try and set the record straight.

On instinct, Darcy quickly corrected the other woman. "Mrs. Faversham! Mr. Wood is not my husband!"

At this Mrs. Faversham looked positively scandalized and had _actually_ stopped talking for a few seconds – a feat in itself. "Child! You do not mean to tell me that the man who has travelled with you _without_ a chaperone and who, just last night, slept under the _very same_ roof as you, is _not_ your husband! I don't know how they do things in Brussels but that is _most_ unheard of for an unmarried lady of such high standings as yourself!"

Darcy mentally slapped herself. She knew what this must look like to Mrs. Faversham. Any unmarried woman who spent time alone with a man was considered the utmost lowest of the low; as an immoral woman.

"It's not the way it looks, Mrs. Faversham! I assure you!" Darcy tried to backtrack, "You see, we arrived very late and we had not any other accommodations and..." she faltered as Mrs. Faversham looked at her with pursed lips in a clear display of disapproval. In a last ditch effort, Darcy added, "He is my betrothed, after all!"

At this Mrs. Faversham looked less disapproving and more than a little relieved while Darcy tried to hide a small wince of pain as Oliver flicked her ankle from under the bed.

This was intolerable! At any minute Oliver was ready to burst out from under the bed and Avada Kedavra Darcy Harris. If only his wand worked! Her betrothed! Oliver accidentally let a groan escape before slapping his hand over his mouth. Mrs. Faversham immediately looked at the bed.

Darcy wanted to kill Oliver. To cover, she went to the bed to sit down as it groaned again for real. "I'm afraid this bed is awfully old, and it groans all the time," Darcy laughed a nervous laugh.

Mrs. Faversham bought this too. "Very well, dear. Now run along and eat your breakfast. I'll let Mr. Faversham know about this Mr. Wood and he'll have him in new clothes by tonight," she said as she exited the room.

Darcy and Oliver both sighed as he got out from under the bed. They glared at each other for a moment before Darcy slapped him in the arm.

"Why did you have to groan? You almost gave us away!" Darcy spat.

"Why did you have to go and make us engaged? _Engaged!_ " Oliver hissed, "Now I have to pretend to like you!"

"It's the only way we could get out of this situation! I needed to preserve my virtue! If we weren't about to be married I'd be marked as a whore and my family would be disgraced!"

"Do you think I care about your family? I just want to get out of this place!"At the misery in his voice, Darcy felt a sharp stab of pity for him. "As if anyone would believe you're a virtuous virgin anyway," Oliver muttered. At this Darcy's pity vanished.

"How would you know if I'm a virgin or not?" Darcy demanded, feeling defensive.

"Are you?" Oliver looked up skeptically.

He couldn't believe he had just asked her if she was a virgin but he really was curious. Oliver would have been really surprised if she were. He knew she had had a fair few boyfriends and a girl that pretty probably wasn't in want of admirers.

"I can't believe you're actually asking me this! And for the record, I'm _not_." Darcy had no idea why she was answering his question. She supposed she felt insulted that he couldn't imagine her being desirable to anyone.

"What about you?" she challenged, even more incredulous that she had the nerve to ask him back but really, it was only fair.

"I know how much you want me to say that I am but I'm not a virgin either," Oliver answered truthfully but swore silently as he felt his face get warm.

Darcy noticed but decided not to add to the already uncomfortable silence they were now sharing. Besides, Darcy reluctantly found it to be endearing and assumed he hadn't slept with many girls if he was embarrassed by the confession. For some reason, Darcy felt pleased.

"Merlin, why are we even talking about this?" Oliver chuckled, diffusing the tension. "This has nothing to do with our..." Oliver cleared his throat and forced out the next word, " _engagement_."

"You're right. We'll just have to play along. You don't even have to pretend to like me. We can say that this was an arranged marriage and the wedding date is still very far off," Darcy reasoned cautiously. Oliver nodded in agreement but still looked a bit uncomfortable.

"If we get away with just being engaged we'll be lucky," Oliver said, "Two maids saw me leave your room last night," he admitted.

"Merlin's beard," Darcy moaned. "Now they think we're not married and sleeping with each other." They both knew how that would look and everyone knew servants gossiped like old ladies.

"Well, let's go get our breakfast and then buy some clothes," Oliver sighed, resigned to go shopping with whatever sort of a man Mr. Faversham was, hoping he was nothing like his wife.

Darcy and Oliver ate in silence. Mrs. Faversham was back shortly after they had finished their breakfast. Unbidden, Mrs. Faversham followed Darcy up to her room leaving Oliver downstairs with Mr. Faversham, an older man with mutton chop sideburns and a quiet demeanour.

 **A/N: Can you send a Howler as a prank? If you can, you can bet the Weasley twins have done it.**

 **All witnesses and victim names used regarding the Ripper killings in my story are real. Creative license was taken in incorporating these details.**

 **There's a really great site called "www dot casebook dot com" where I've done my research on Jack. If this interests you, please check it out! (I'm not affiliated but it's a pretty cool site.)**


	5. Chapter 5

-5-

Once up in her room, Mrs. Faversham started pulling out dresses, looking for something that might work just to get Darcy out of the house and to a dressmaker. She seemed to have no qualms about rooting through some other lady's clothing. Darcy secretly thought Mrs. Faversham was quite enjoying seeing what Lady Harris actually owned. She finally settled on a dress that _might_ fit if the back was left undone.

"This must be Lady Harris' dress while she was in the family way with your eldest brother," Mrs. Faversham said, handing the dress to Darcy. She also handed Darcy a pair of shoes that were far too small.

Darcy eyed the waist of the dress and had a hard time believing that this was a maternity dress. The waist was still impossibly petite. It was a pale pink dress that clashed horribly with her hair but she really had no choice in the matter. Mrs. Faversham then pulled out a scary-looking contraption that Darcy recognized as a corset. Long laces hung from the garment. Even when it wasn't on anybody she could still make out the shape due to the whale-bone stays keeping it stiff. It looked incredibly painful.

"We'll also have to get you some corsets. I don't think any of Lady Harris' will fit you, dear!"

Darcy sighed quietly in relief as Mrs. Faversham put the corset away. It would have felt extremely creepy to wear someone else's underwear! Darcy then tried to escape behind the dressing screen to put on the pink dress only to be pulled back out again by the domineering woman.

"No need to be shy, my dear!"

Darcy stood rooted to the spot. Surely she wasn't expected to undress in front of a stranger! Besides, her modern underwear would probably be considered shameful.

"But if it would make you feel better, I'll call for Mary to dress you." Darcy bristled at the thought that she'd need someone to help her dress. Mrs. Faversham walked over to the wall near the bed and pulled a green tasselled rope that Darcy had missed in her quick inspection of her room the night before.

 _I have a bell-pull for my own servants. That's really cool._ Darcy thought to herself.

Incredibly fast, Mary knocked softly on the door and entered. Mrs. Faversham left with an "I'll leave you to it! Mind you, don't be too long Miss Harris! We want to get to Madam Rachelle's shop as soon as possible! Luckily your coming does not coincide with the Season else it would be intolerably busy!"

Remembering from her personal research that the Season Mrs. Faversham was referring to was the "coming out" of young women into society, Darcy wondered if she would have to come out as well come December. She was fairly sure she wouldn't have to since she had already snagged herself a "husband". Mary started to get Darcy's chemise ready to wear under the dress. Darcy snapped back to attention.

"Please Ma'am," Mary indicated that Darcy was to take off her nightshirt. Grimacing, Darcy did so revealing her lacy black underwear. She was at least thankful that Mrs. Faversham had left the room. Mary looked a bit startled at this development but said nothing. She quickly helped Darcy into the shift and then the dress. Then Darcy understood why she needed someone to help her dress as Mary struggled a bit to try and fasten the dress up the back. Not even a contortionist would be able to do up all the buttons in the back.

"Don't worry about it Mary, I don't want to tear the dress. I'll just wear a cloak or something," she told Mary.

"Yes Ma'am," Mary said, "May I ask you a question Ma'am?" she asked meekly, almost fearful.

"Of course, Mary," Darcy answered, wondering why Mary was afraid of asking a question. Maybe Lady Harris wasn't a very nice person.

"Where did you get such strange undergarments?" the maid asked with a blush, eyes fixed on the carpet.

Darcy smiled. "I bought them in Brussels. They're very fashionable there, and they don't wear corsets," she told Mary, thinking that very soon, everybody would be thinking Brussels a very strange place indeed if she kept blaming her modern eccentricities on her non-existent finishing school.

"They look very comfortable, Ma'am," Mary said wistfully.

It was then that Darcy noticed for the first time that Mary was in fact, wearing a corset. A very, very small corset.

"They are," Darcy informed her, "Next time I go to Brussels I shall buy you some," Darcy told her without thinking then mentally smacked herself. What if Mary accepted?

"Oh no! I could never wear those! Especially in black!" Mary looked shocked. Darcy felt relieved. She would have to be more mindful of her words from then on.

"But about those corsets," Darcy began, "Have you worn them long?"

"Since I was a wee child Ma'am," Mary told her, "I've the smallest waist in the neighbourhood!" she smiled proudly. Darcy pitied the poor girl's organs. That couldn't be healthy!

As she finished dressing, Mrs. Faversham burst in declaring that "Mr. Wood looked very glum indeed this morning," and asked Mary to hasten. Mary sat Darcy down at her vanity and started doing her hair up in a quick but elegant fashion. Once ready, Mrs. Faversham took a warm shawl and wrapped it around Darcy to hide the dress that wouldn't fasten and to keep her warm. Then Darcy found herself whisked down the stairs and out the door. On the way out, she caught a quick glance of Oliver in his Hogwarts uniform – without the robe of course – who was sipping tea, quietly talking to Mr. Faversham in the morning room. She gave him a beseeching look and motioned to Mrs. Faversham who was prattling on. He grinned wickedly in reply. She desperately hoped he didn't say anything too incriminating about where – and _when_ – they came from.

While Darcy had been dressing, Oliver had been speaking with Mr. Faversham who was an incredibly kind man and nothing like his overbearing wife. Oliver had found that Mr. Faversham had a son about his age that was abroad at the moment. The elderly man had fetched a suit belonging to his son James and leant it to Oliver until he could get some suits made. The pants and sleeves were extremely short and the shoulders not quite wide enough but it would serve in the meantime. If the Victorians thought Darcy tall they must have thought Oliver was a giant. Oliver grinned as he saw Darcy being shepherded out the door, thinking he got the better end of the deal by not having to put up with a chatterbox all morning.

By mid afternoon Darcy had blessedly learnt to tune out Mrs. Faversham, only speaking when she felt she needed to. The dressmakers was owned and operated by a "real French woman!" Mrs. Faversham had told her. Darcy garnered that the French must be quite popular here, and especially trendy when it came to fashion.

Darcy had been standing on a stool, reminding her of Madam Malkin's, as she felt a little wave of homesickness. Then she suddenly jolted as she realized that she had no money! She didn't even have Wizarding money, let alone Muggle money. On top of that, she already had had three plain muslin gowns made for her use until all her other fine gowns could be made. As the elegant and fashionable Madam Rachelle went in search of some supplies in the back of the shop, Darcy frantically called Mrs. Faversham over to her.

"Mrs. Faversham! I haven't any money! How shall I pay for these?" she motioned to her plain dresses hung nearby.

"Oh don't be silly! Finishing school in Brussels did not inform you that credit is used for all your purchases? You are a Harris after all! You have but to mention your name and your father will pay for it later," Mrs. Faversham explained.

Darcy sighed in relief. She again thanked whatever powers that may be that she had rich great-great-grandparents. Of course, her immediate family were still incredibly rich but Madam Malkin asked for money up front.

Madam Rachelle came bustling back in carrying something that looked suspiciously like a corset. A few moments later Darcy was panicking as Madam Rachelle tried to slip it over Darcy's head.

"Really, I don't think I need it! Don't you think my waist is small enough?" Darcy had dropped all pretence of being a Victorian lady in her panic.

"Mais non, mademoiselle!" Madam Rachelle chided her and continued in a very thick – and to Darcy's ears embellished –French accent, "True, you are very skeenny but you need to be down to at leest seventeen inches!"

In a moment of letting her guard down, Madam Rachelle pulled the corset over Darcy's head and instructed her to hold onto the heavy wingback chair in front of her. Darcy complied, full of apprehension and confusion. She didn't know why she had to hang on to a chair though. _Don't these things just lace up?_ Darcy wondered.

Her question was quickly answered as Madam Rachelle placed a foot on Darcy's backside and pulled with all her might at the laces in back of the corset. For a minute, Darcy couldn't breathe. This was it! She saw her very short life flash before her eyes! She expected to see spots dance in front of her eyes soon. Mercifully, those never came. She blinked a bit in surprise. She wasn't dying after all! True, breathing was incredibly difficult and she felt lightheaded but she thought she might actually live through this ordeal. She mentally apologized to her compressed organs.

Madam Rachelle passed a tape measure around her waist and tutted.

"Twenty inches? Not nearly theen enough!" Darcy almost panicked again as she thought Madam Rachelle was about to tighten the laces again. Darcy sighed as best she could with her chest compressed when she realized that the dressmaker was writing a note on her desk. The Slytherin glanced down and was shocked at the amount of cleavage she was now displaying. She felt like her breasts were about to burst out of their confines but she admitted to herself that now that she was laced in, she did feel sexy. She had yet to decide if the pain was worth it.

"I 'ave just written myzelf a note to tighteen your laces next year when you have become used to eet," Madam Rachelle informed Darcy.

Darcy didn't think this much better but hoped it would never come to that. Then Darcy was outfitted with a collapsible bustle: a contraption that essentially tied around the waist and made her dress stick out from the small of her back and fall gracefully to the ground. The only problem with this was the extreme weight of the fabric hanging off her. When putting one of the bustle dresses on, she immediately fell backwards with her fall broken by another nearby chair.

"Please charge the dresses to Lord Harris," Mrs. Faversham instructed the dressmaker as Darcy righted herself.

Once that was done, Darcy donned one of her new plain gowns, high-necked and long sleeved, which was still quite elaborate and left with Mrs. Faversham, feeling slightly guilty for making her ancestor foot the bill.

Next they headed to a milliner who outfitted Darcy with a few large bonnets adorned with ostrich feathers and a few headdresses and caps with lace, tulle and crepe. Then she went to purchase shoes at the cobblers. She could finally get some shoes that fit! Lady Harris' shoes that Darcy had squeezed on that morning were incredibly small and she learned from the cobbler that women bound their feet to make them smaller than they really were. Darcy absolutely refused to buy shoes two sizes too small as was usual and put her foot down – literally – when she put in her order. She also made sure to opt for shorter heels so she wouldn't seem quite so tall. Finally, all their errands done, Darcy and Mrs. Faversham headed home. All would be delivered to the townhouse in the next few days.

Darcy was feeling exceedingly lightheaded in Mrs. Faversham's carriage on the way home and distinctly dizzy as she entered the door and said goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Faversham as they headed home across the street. Oxygen was hard to come by in a corset.

"I'll be calling again in the next few days!" Mrs. Faversham announced cheerily, "You're such lovely company, my dear!"

Darcy waved and faked a smile. She let Berkley shut the front door behind her and tiredly walked up to her room. As she shut the door to her room she nearly jumped out of her skin at the impossibly handsome man lounging at the small table near the fireplace.

Oliver looked up from a newspaper he was reading, dressed in an immaculate suit and shiny dress shoes. Darcy was secretly impressed at his transformation into a Victorian gentleman with the aid of a little window dressing. She also noted how gorgeous he looked bathed in firelight.

"Welcome home," Oliver greeted, boredom in his voice. "Took you long enough!"

"I swear, I _never_ want to go shopping again," Darcy sat down awkwardly due to the corset and bustle in the chair opposite Oliver and kicked off her shoes wearily. Oliver chuckled.

"Looking good, Wood," she complemented him. Grinning, she added, "You could almost pass for a gentleman."

"And you will never pass for a lady," Oliver teased back.

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him.

"And I prove my point," said Oliver, matter-of-factly.

Feeling troubled Darcy said, "I tried talking to the fewest possible people but there's just no way around it. I must have talked to at least twenty people."

Oliver nodded in agreement. "Same here," he told her.

A few minutes of thoughtful silence later Oliver said, "You were right, by the way. We are in 1888," he said, gesturing to the newspaper. "Take a look."

As Darcy flipped through the paper, Oliver took a minute to really look at Darcy and decided she looked especially beautiful that night. She was wearing a sky blue dress and her hair had a few silk flowers pinned in place. Then he noticed what a corset could do.

Despite the high neckline, her ample curves were put on obvious display and her waist was so small he could probably reach both hands around her and touch his fingertips together. He was itching to see if he was right.

"Wood, my eyes are _so_ not down there," Darcy said in a scathing tone, putting down the newspaper. Oliver's eyes snapped back up to hers. She noticed a bit of pink in his cheeks. No doubt because he got busted checking her out. She did grudgingly admit to herself that she was still a bit flattered.

"I've got to say that that dress is pretty tight," he said, indicating her now hourglass shape as he grew a bit pinker.

"Throughout history men have always liked the same _things_ where women are concerned, if you take my meaning," Darcy told him, rolling her eyes.

"It's also because of men that these contraptions of the devil," she angrily indicated her corset and bustle combination, "Have to be worn by women!"

In an attempt to placate Darcy (and also to keep his eyes off her curves) he picked up the newspaper.

"Did you see the news today?" he quickly asked Darcy.

"No. Why?" she calmed a bit.

"Take a look at page five," he told her, handing it back to her.

She flipped back to page five and saw the headline: "Woman Brutally Murdered in Whitechapel District". Darcy looked at Oliver with wide eyes. She quickly flipped back to the front page and looked at the date: September 9th, 1888.

"Jack the Ripper," she breathed as the newspaper slipped through her fingers and fluttered to the floor, "Annie Chapman was his second victim!"

"Wait, second?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah. The first was killed in August," Darcy answered.

Oliver nodded. "I figured it was the Ripper when they said how they'd found the body... and what they _didn't_ find," he said, alluding to the victim's uterus.

"But they're not calling him Jack the Ripper," he picked up the paper scanning the article, "They're calling him ... Leather Apron?"

"He wasn't called Jack the Ripper until he supposedly sent a letter to the Central News Agency sometime this month signing it that way," Darcy explained, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

"There's supposed to be another letter later on signed 'From Hell'. There were tons of copycat letters but those two are considered real." Darcy informed Oliver.

"I don't think I want to know how you know this stuff," Oliver told her.

Darcy rolled her eyes, "I told you this was my favourite time period and Jack the Ripper is fascinating."

"I think there's something seriously wrong with you," Oliver told her, still looking at the article.

"Lots of people think serial killers are interesting," Darcy defended herself. "Look at Sirius Black!"

"Okay, okay, point taken," he acquiesced.

Darcy shifted uncomfortably in her dress. She didn't want to ask her next question but this get-up was really painful and she kept getting more dizzy spells that were _not_ of a magical variety. "Do you think you could undo my dress and unlace this corset?"

"You want me to take your clothes off?" Oliver had a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Darcy scoffed, "I didn't say take them off, I said undo them!" With not a little embarrassment she felt heat rush to her face. Darcy had no idea why she should be blushing. She stood and turned her back to Oliver.

He made his way over to her and undid the buttons that ran all the way down her back. Darcy leaned against one of the bed posts and clamped her eyes shut, still incredibly and inexplicably self-conscious. In some twisted way this almost felt like the night she lost her virginity only this felt far more sensual because of all the buttons that were being slowly undone by Wood's inexpert hands. Oh why hadn't she thought of calling Mary in to do this?

Oliver felt the air grow stifled. Had the room been this warm just a minute ago? He took a moment to loosen his tie and top shirt button. Regardless, he decided to take his time to prolong the moment and enjoy Darcy's obvious discomfort. This was too much fun to pass up. The buttons finally undone, he then got to work on the laces of the corset.

He was nearing the last few grommets of the corset and, taking pity on Darcy, was about to say something mundane about the weather when Darcy suddenly took in a deep breath and groaned. "Oh, that feels _so_ good!" and then clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm.

Oliver's hands froze as he raised his eyebrows. That had been unexpected. Darcy turned back to face him.

"Sorry about that," she said lowering her hand, her face still very red. "That sounded all kinds of wrong."

"Don't worry about it," Oliver said, wincing as his voice cracked a bit. Was his face as red as hers? He hoped not. Holding back the hysteric laugh that threatened to escape him, he remembered the little box that was in his pocket. "By the way, I got you something." This seemed to diffuse Darcy's mortification but only a bit.

Darcy blinked in surprise. Why on Earth would he get her anything? Maybe it was something really foul he had found in the streets?

He stood up as he pulled out a small black box. _Oh my God_ , Darcy thought. _That's a ring box!_

Oliver unceremoniously tossed it to her. Darcy rolled her eyes and opened it. Inside she found a silver ring set with a small emerald. It was by no means as flashy or ostentatious as she would have liked but to Darcy's eyes, it was still lovely. Besides, this was a fake gift anyways.

"It's an engagement ring," Oliver said after Darcy had remained silent. Darcy thought it was adorable how nervous he sounded, as though he wanted her approval. "We are _betrothed_ , after all."

"Thank you," she whispered, facing Oliver with a small smile. Without thinking she went over to him and gave him a hug. She felt Oliver tense up so she backed away immediately, feeling foolish. An incredibly awkward silence ensued. Again.

"Sorry," Darcy mumbled.

Oliver, not sure what to do, shrugged.

Oliver couldn't believe that Darcy Harris had just hugged him! He hadn't known icebergs could harbour emotion. It wasn't altogether unpleasant but it wasn't all that comfortable either. His mind raced, trying to think of something to say to get rid of this tension in the air. Then he remembered something.

"By the way Harris, will you marry me?" he asked, appearing blasé but still feeling inexplicably nervous despite the fact that she really had no choice but to accept.

Darcy, happy that Oliver had broken the awkwardness, appeared to think hard for a moment. "Well, I suppose you've already bought the ring..." She looked up at him through her eyelashes (she had no idea what possessed her to do that). "Sure. Why not?" She grinned.

"How did you pay for this?" Darcy asked putting the ring on her finger. It was a bit loose, she would have to get it readjusted soon.

"I put it on my account," he said.

"I wasn't aware you had one," Darcy said, confused.

"I don't. Apparently there are some well-to-do Scots by the name of Wood around here and the jeweler just assumed I was part of the family. Hopefully by the time they realize their mistake, we'll be long gone."

And just like that, the comfortable atmosphere they had been sharing was shattered as reality hit them and the absurdity of the proposal descended upon them. Then Darcy and Oliver started laughing at this whole situation. Both of them dressed to the nines in what looked like costumes, they were merely seventh years and engaged, and they were stuck in an antiquated time period.

All through September, Darcy's and Oliver's new wardrobes started arriving. Darcy was extremely pleased with how her dresses had turned out and not so pleased at the corsets that came with them. She resigned herself to wearing one every day seeing as she couldn't very well have her black underwear on display to all the servants while they were being washed. She opted to wash them herself in the bathroom sink.

 **A/N: Researching Victorian clothing was so much fun! It was also a revelation on some horrific practices including mother's locking their daughters into corsets, binding feet to make them smaller and dying dresses with arsenic to get green colors.**

 **I also confess that the bustle was in its decline in 1888 but as I love this style so much, I fudged the fashion timeline for my own pleasure. I've tried to keep true to the period but I couldn't resist the temptation of putting Darcy in such a gown.**


	6. Chapter 6

-6-

Oliver and Darcy spent a great deal of time trying to figure out what they would do next. Darcy felt horrible about the murders. She had brought up the subject one afternoon as she took a walk with Oliver, her arm linked with his. Mrs. Faversham had annoyingly decided to chaperone them following at a respectable distance behind them, out of earshot. Miraculously, she wasn't talking.

"We have to _do_ something, Wood," Darcy declared but kept her voice down.

Oliver, actually enjoying his walks with Darcy, had been admiring a lush green park and looked up when his lovely companion spoke. "Hmm? Do something about what?"

"About these murders. About Jack the Ripper," Darcy whispered.

"Harris, you know you can't disturb history like that," Oliver said softly, seeing Darcy looking upset.

"I know that. It's just that I know people are dying and I can't just stand around in the lap of luxury and do nothing."

They slipped into silence once again. Oliver was considering the idea of Darcy having feelings. Could she really be more than met the eye? For six years he had believed her to be incapable of compassion yet here she was, visibly upset over strangers dying. He didn't like seeing Darcy Harris look vulnerable. It was unheard of and it made him uncomfortable.

"Just don't go and do anything stupid," Oliver placed his free hand on top of hers.

Darcy didn't reply but managed a sad smile as they finished their stroll.

Another subject that came up had been how to get back to their proper time period (though Darcy was a little less enthusiastic and less desperate than the Gryffindor Quidditch captain).

"Do you think time is still moving back home?" Darcy asked, one evening as they sat in her room. It had become a daily event for them to discuss things in her room after dinner.

"Merlin, I hope not!" Oliver said. "My Quidditch season would be ruined!" his eyes held a distressed look. "This is my last chance to win the Quidditch Cup."

Darcy just shook her head a bit fondly. Ever the Quidditch nut. "Don't worry. I'm sure time has stopped and we'll go back to the way things were. You and me dueling in front of the Great Hall, double potions with our Houses, Hogsmead on weekends and the Montrose Magpies beating every other Quidditch team in the league on their way to winning the Quidditch World Cup," she added that last bit with a sly grin.

"Never!" Oliver nearly yelled. He checked himself and said a bit more quietly, "I think we both know that Puddlemere is the team to beat."

"Sure they are," Darcy patronized him and leaned over the small table to pat him condescendingly on the head.

Oliver swatted her hand away. "They are! Puddlemere's Seeker is ranked number _one,_ " Oliver's face held a smug look that said " _beat that"_.

"Ah! But the Magpies are already three wins ahead of everyone else, Montrose's Keeper, that dreamy Christopher Morris, is averaging the least scores let in per game, their Chasers have the best Hawkshead Attacking Formation I've ever seen and... Why are you looking at me like that?" Darcy stopped her tirade as she saw that Oliver's smug expression had changed to one of awe and something a tad bit... hungry?

For all her pleasing physical traits, Oliver had never seen anything quite so sexy as Darcy Harris spouting Quidditch statistics, even if they were for an opposing team. In all of their years at Hogwarts, how had he missed that she was such an avid enthusiast of the sport? He was sure she must have been in the stands for the school games cheering her team on but never did he think that she could be so into the sport that she had memorized her favourite team's lineup and trademark plays.

"You like Quidditch?" was all Oliver could manage to ask.

"No. I _adore_ Quidditch," Darcy corrected simply.

"How did I miss this fact?" Oliver shook his head, still looking at Darcy in amazement.

"Maybe because you were too busy trying to hex me to notice."

"How long have you been a fan?" Oliver had many questions about this revelation.

"Since my first year at Hogwarts. At the first school game, really. I just fell in love with the speed and the strategy," Darcy shrugged, "It's like nothing in the Muggle world."

"Do you fly?"

Darcy scoffed. "Of course I fly! Ever since the first flying lesson with Madam Hooch and I'm getting better all the time. I'm actually quite talented as a Seeker," Darcy lied.

He didn't have to know that she wasn't good at all. She _had_ managed to fly adequately but not nearly well enough to play. She hadn't lied when she said she loved the game.

"If you're talented, why aren't you on the Slytherin team?" Oliver's brow knit in confusion.

"Because there has never been a girl on the Slytherin team and they weren't about to break school tradition just for little old me," Darcy glowered.

That was the truth as well. Despite the fact that she knew she would never make the team, she remembered her outrage at how previous captains and now Marcus Flint had refused to even let her try out.

"Also, maybe you haven't noticed but my house team chooses its members based on size and I'm obviously not built like a thug."

"That is so wrong. Everyone deserves the right to play the game. I hate to say it but your House really is stuck in the Middle Ages."

There was a pause as Darcy sat thinking about what Oliver had just said. _I wonder what House the Sorting Hat would have put me in if I hadn't asked it to put me in Slytherin_ , she thought to herself as she scanned the newspaper for any tidbits of information about Jack the Ripper.

Then Oliver had a thought.

"Harris! Let me see the newspaper," Darcy was about to hand it over, thought better of it and pulled it back with a sly grin.

"Not until I hear a bit of civility in your tone Mr. Wood. Besides, you didn't even say the magic word."

Oliver looked at her incredulously. Was she serious?

"Normally, I would say the magic word is _Imperio_ and I'd make you give it to me," Oliver muttered.

Darcy laughed, genuinely amused by that comment, and continued to look at him expectantly. Oliver sighed overdramatically in defeat.

"Fine. Miss Harris, would you please be so kind as to hand me this morning's paper?" Oliver asked politely. Darcy nodded, apparently satisfied with his attempt at civility. She handed him the paper cordially. He grasped it and leaned back into his seat.

"... bint," he teased with an angelic smile. It was just too tempting to see her most charming smile disappear into a mock outrage.

"I can't believe you just called me a cow!" Darcy laughed despite herself.

Had Wood always been this teasing? She really had so little interaction with him besides classes and skirmishes. She had never seen this side of him and she found that she quite liked it. Truth be told, she couldn't even remember why they had started fighting all those years ago.

As she polished off a lavender and rose water cookie, she surreptitiously studied him. His hair had gotten a bit longer and fell into his eyes and he continuously brushed it away. He chewed on a thumb nail out of habit as he concentrated on the front page of the paper, lost in thought. She noticed that chewing his nails was a habit of his when he thought really hard about something. Darcy was surprised to find that she was also chewing her thumb nail. She immediately dropped her hand to her lap. She had never chewed her nails in the past. Was he rubbing off on her?

Oliver hadn't noticed Darcy's perusal of him as he looked at the front page to see the date. The last time he had looked at the date had been September 8th. He mentally counted the days since they'd been there. He and Darcy had "left" Hogwarts on September 1st. Had they really only been there for a week? It felt like an eternity. At least he supposed Darcy was having fun. When there was no nail left on his thumb to chew he chewed his lip – a habit of Darcy's that he had inadvertently picked up and unconsciously performed – as he sorted out his thoughts. If they had left on the 1st and seven days later found it to be the 8th, then he supposed that time was flowing in the same way here as it was back home.

"I've got an idea as to the time issue we have here," Oliver looked up and saw Darcy jump and, oddly, turn a bit red. He ignored it. Darcy was a strange girl sometimes.

He continued his thought before it left him, "We left Hogwarts on the 1st of September and we arrived here on the 1st of September as well because today's paper seven days later says it's the 8th."

"Okay. So what does that mean for us?" Darcy forced herself to concentrate on his words but found his eyes to be quite the distraction. She also had never found the use of the word "us" to be quite as charming as when it pertained to the two of them. Darcy scolded herself mentally. She had absolutely no right to think of him like that and wondered when her sanity had started to leave her. She brought her focus back to the Quidditch captain.

"Well, I thought that since time here seems to be equivalent to time back home, time is probably moving at the same pace back home while we're here," he said morosely. "Now we're going to be behind everyone else and we'll fail our NEWTs and then we'll be stuck taking classes with this year's sixth years like idiots," he said dejectedly.

Darcy moved from her seat on the sofa across from him to the chair next to his, her second cookie forgotten on the end table. She tentatively reached a hand over and set it on his forearm.

"Hey, it's okay," she soothed quietly. "We don't know that for sure but even if it's true, it won't be that bad. The sixth years aren't completely dense," she smiled at him. _Damn. From up close he's even more gorgeous,_ Darcy thought and didn't even bother to chastise herself. What was the point? Besides, she wanted to ease her own mind as well as his about the whole time situation. He rewarded her efforts with a small smile.

"You know I usually love to disagree with you but this time I hope you're right about me being wrong," Oliver whispered.

One afternoon as Oliver and Darcy were having their morning tea, Oliver burst out, "I've got it!" Darcy spewed her tea at the outburst and was pleasantly surprised as Oliver automatically handed her his handkerchief. She could really get used to this chivalry stuff.

"Why don't we track down Dumbledore and see if he can find a way to bring us back to the present!" he exclaimed, looking at Darcy excitedly.

"Wood, do you honestly think he'd be able to help?" Darcy asked sceptically.

"Of course! The man's wizarding skills are legendary."

"Very true. But if you actually bothered to do the math, you'd know that he's only about four years old right now. Plus, we don't even know where to find him," Darcy pointed out.

Somewhat deflated, Oliver slumped back in his seat and sipped his tea. "What I wouldn't give for a Butterbeer right about now," he sighed.

"Mhmm. Or a Firewhiskey." Darcy agreed. Just then, the doorbell sounded.

"Shouldn't you be getting that?" Oliver asked Darcy.

"Silly boy, we have a butler for that! Honestly, we've been here for over two weeks. Have you ever seen me answer the door?" Darcy said, amusement evident.

Oliver smiled in wonder just at seeing her so happy and so at ease. He had known her for almost seven years but also _hadn't_ known her at the same time. Hardly more than two weeks in their new Victorian Muggle lifestyle had transformed the Darcy Harris he knew completely. She was already familiar with all the Muggle terms and appliances and she wasn't quite as ill-humoured as she had been at Hogwarts. Here, all her defenses were down and it was as if glimpses of the real Darcy were revealed. Oliver caught himself thinking that Darcy might actually be a decent human being, and one who loved Quidditch at that! He realized then that even if he didn't particularly like her, he appreciated her presence when she was around.

Berkley entered the parlour with Mrs. Faversham in tow. Oliver and Darcy inwardly groaned, already weary with the thought of the overbearing woman in their presence. Darcy greeted her politely all the same as she invited Mrs. Faversham to take a seat on the nearest chair and offered her tea. Darcy seated herself next to Oliver on the couch.

"I see you've both gotten your new clothes! Splendid! But I must be very blunt with you, my dears!" Mrs. Faversham cut straight to the chase, looking eager. "When is the date?"

Oliver and Darcy were very much confused. "Erm, what date exactly?" Oliver asked as Darcy poured the tea for their guest.

"Why! The wedding of course! We can't have you living together and unwed! It is simply scandalous already!" Mrs. Faversham stated.

Darcy nearly dropped the teacup she was handing over to Mrs. Faversham and it was Oliver's turn to choke on his tea. Darcy clapped him on the back a few times. She sat back down next to Oliver and shot him a look. Only a slight widening of her eyes gave away her horror. Oliver was similarly stunned.

Mrs. Faversham looked at them expectantly.

"Well, we hadn't really th-though that f-far ahead!" Darcy squeaked.

"Then let us start planning! It's nearly October and we must get you two married as soon as may be..."

Darcy just stared on in helpless disbelief that her own wedding was being planned without any of her consent. This was not how her life was supposed to play out! Oliver's jaw literally dropped as the Neighbour Lady From Hell said her next sentence:

"...I've already put it in all the society columns for October 13th, mind you. It's only fitting that Lord and Lady Harris' daughter's wedding should be announced properly!" She smiled as if she expected Darcy and Oliver to praise her foresight. Darcy wanted nothing more than to strangle the woman. Maybe even use the Stunning Spell on her if she had her wand. She still felt uncomfortable without it. She felt Oliver's hand on her own, presumably to hold her back from attacking.

"But October 13th is in three week's time! Don't you think that extremely soon?" Oliver asked Mrs. Faversham as Darcy was slowly simmering with rage. She was getting married in three weeks. To Oliver Bloody Wood! He had been decent company and she was feeling a bit fond of the man for almost three weeks already but their unspoken truce was still incredibly shaky after nearly seven years of hatred between them. This farce of a marriage was likely to blow that truce all to hell.

"Not at all! If we work together, it should all go smoothly. I remember once when I helped plan a wedding for the daughter of my dear friend Mrs. Fairfax..."

Darcy tuned out and contented herself by internally freaking out.

 **A/N: For the record, my favourite Quidditch team is the Falmouth Falcons even though I have a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt (the Wizarding World of Harry Potter didn't sell Falmouth shirts). Do you have a favourite team? Let me know in a review!**


	7. Chapter 7

-7-

In the next few days Darcy would have had so much fun had the wedding planning been for someone else. Oliver had actually taken to shutting himself up in his room or to taking long walks when he saw Mrs. Faversham coming, leaving Darcy to fend for herself. He also stopped attending their nightly chats after supper. The Slytherin had been fine with that since she probably would have throttled him for abandoning her. It would not do for the bride to kill the groom.

Darcy and Oliver had stopped talking to each other altogether and avoided being in each other's presence, taking their meals apart. It was now ten days until the wedding – with the bride and groom having seen neither hide nor hair of each other for the same length of time – and Mrs. Faversham announced that she would be having an engagement party so that the "two lovebirds" could be properly introduced to high society. _So much for talking to as few people as possible_ , Darcy thought worriedly.

The night of the party, Darcy stalled for as long as possible. She had already decided to wear a royal purple silk evening gown though had "hesitated" as long as she dared in dressing and told Mary to take her time in doing her hair in an elaborate updo adorned with purple ostrich feathers. She felt more than a little foolish for faking all of this but gave herself a mental shake. She had lied convincingly to all of Hogwarts about her blood status for six years! This should be as easy as keeping a flobberworm alive!

Once ready, Darcy examined her reflection in her floor length mirror. She had to admit that the dress was absolutely gorgeous. Madame Rachelle really knew what she was doing. The dress was off the shoulders and low-cut enough to just hint at some tasteful cleavage. The corset really did do wonders for her bust and her waist and she was feeling a little more comfortable in one (though not much) than the day she had bought her first one. Adjusting relatively well to the corset wearing, Darcy asked Mary to lace her in tighter than usual so she could show off her fantastic hourglass figure. The skirt of the dress fell in elaborate folds that must have consisted of enough fabric to cover a Quidditch pitch. It was embellished with ruffles and dyed purple lace everywhere. The purple feathers in her hair were also pretty cool.

Darcy talked herself up. She could do this. She _would_ do this! She took a deep breath and exited her room with Mary giving a barely audible sigh of longing, saying "You look beautiful, Ma'am!" Darcy gave a nervous smile in reply. She rapped sharply on Oliver's door.

"Don't be too long, princess! I'll be downstairs," she called through the thick wood of his door. She hadn't meant for that to sound quite as mean as it did but her nerves were already fraying.

Oliver grit his teeth and glared at the door. He really hadn't needed much time to get ready but had procrastinated for as long as humanly possible and eventually had to get dressed for this society engagement party. He would have rather attended Nearly Headless Nick's Death Day Party five times over as opposed to this. He sighed and headed down the stairs. He couldn't believe he had to don a kilt for this. He had worn the garment for special occasions in the past but really, this wasn't a special occasion. This was all a joke. At least he was able to find a Wood tartan (not his family's but it would do): primarily green and blue criss-crossed with red and bits of black, white and yellow thrown in for good measure.

Darcy was already waiting in the foyer and her breath caught as she watched Oliver descend the steps. Most of her rage disappeared despite her trying to maintain it. She hadn't seen him for ten days and after having spent weeks in his presence, she had found that she missed him. She found this all a bit funny: wasn't she supposed to be the one who descended the steps in all her glory as her man gasped in awe? Instead, she desperately tried not to gape at Oliver as he made his way towards her, looking every inch the dashing Scottish gentleman of the era. She briefly wondered if Victorian Scots wore what was traditionally _not_ worn under their kilts...

When Oliver caught sight of Darcy he had to admit that he had missed her teasing and their conversations. He also had to admit that Darcy looked like a goddess. Of course, he'd never tell her that because he didn't want to run the risk of her head getting so inflated as to not fit through the door. She was vain enough as it was.

Oliver grinned sheepishly as he held out his arm for Darcy to take. She refused his arm and looked away. So she was still angry.

"Can I talk to you?" Oliver asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Darcy into the parlour and away from Berkley's ears. Darcy just glared at him.

"You left me alone with that insufferable woman!" Darcy hissed with righteous anger, arms crossed. They both knew that the woman in question was Mrs. Faversham.

"I know! And I'm sorry," Oliver apologized then steeled himself for the blow to his pride that had to come next, "I was a coward. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle her."

Oliver saw Darcy relax a bit but maintained the glare. If the Gryffindor knew anything about Darcy, it was that her ego was her weakness.

"I know you're so much better at handling her than I could ever be. You really are amazing when it comes to lying." He stopped, realizing that this was probably not the right thing to say. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out properly –"

"Don't worry. It's true anyway," Darcy shrugged.

She felt her anger subside. She _was_ pretty amazing. Darcy strode over to him and took his arm and said, "Apology accepted."

Fishing for a compliment, Darcy asked, "Well? How do I look?"

"You look lovely, Harris," Oliver muttered as he led her out the door. "Though a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a dress is still a Blast-Ended Skrewt," he smirked.

Darcy's look of indignation was entirely worth the discreet kick in the shins that he received from his fiancée. That little act of domestic violence reassured the pair that they were at least on speaking terms again.

The party was being held over at Mr. and Mrs. Faversham's townhouse just across the street. Oliver rang the doorbell and Mrs. Faversham ushered them into her parlour. It was much the same as the Harris'. The room was quite large but felt rather small and confining due to the other guests already mingling.

The walls were covered in floral print wallpaper that hurt the eyes if one looked at it for too long, there was a sofa, two comfortable looking armchairs with footstools, a coffee table draped with a lace tablecloth and the room was full of the pungent scent of fresh flowers in crystal vases. It made Darcy uncomfortable as it reminded her of a funeral parlour. Then again, they were celebrating the end of her single life, Darcy thought wryly.

As Darcy explained to Oliver on the way over, under normal circumstances this party would have been held by her mother and attended by her friends. As it was, she had no friends here and her mother had not even been born yet. It gave Darcy an odd feeling and she tightened her grasp on Oliver's arm; her one and only connection to 1999. Compounding the odd feeling was the sensation that the room was overly warm but she shook it off.

Mrs. Faversham directed Darcy and Oliver over to a young couple. There was a pretty young woman of about Darcy's age whose heart-shaped face and blue eyes were framed by blonde curls. Compounding the look of a porcelain doll was the pink frilly dress that the girl wore. The man with her seemed slightly older. He had reddish hair and hazel eyes that would often gaze at his female companion with an adoring expression. These two were clearly in love.

"This is Miss Rebecca Ashmore and the gentleman is Mr. John Woodhouse," Mrs. Faversham introduced. Oliver gave a slight bow as Darcy attempted a curtsey she had seen Mary perform. She succeeded only by holding onto Oliver's arm for balance. They exchanged pleasantries and then headed over to meet the half dozen of other couples. So far they had met three John's and two Jane's. _Don't these Muggles have any imagination?_ thought Oliver. For the most part they all seemed pleasing if a bit straight-laced. They finally came to the last pair in the room. A handsome young woman with shining black hair and equally dark eyes and an elegant red dress was introduced as a Miss Elizabeth Kensington while the very handsome man with the same black hair and eyes beside her was introduced as her brother, Mr. William Kensington. The Hogwarts students each performed their respective gestures while the Kensington's did the same.

While they chatted about the unseasonably cold weather they were having and the lovely parlour they were now occupying, Darcy didn't miss the smouldering looks that Mr. Kensington was giving her nor the way that Miss Kensington was batting her lashes, waving her fan rapidly and flirtatiously, looking up at Oliver.

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet the Miss Darcy Harris and the Mr. Oliver Wood we have heard so much about from Mrs. Faversham. I see that Mrs. Faversham was not exaggerating when she told us of Miss Harris' exceeding beauty and charm," Mr. Kensington told Darcy as he took her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

"You are too kind, sir," Darcy smiled, flattered by the man's suave words. He really did embody the whole 'tall, dark and handsome' description.

The room was getting warmer again and the heat seemed to hit her in an invisible wave. She looked around to see if anyone else had felt it but everyone continued on with what they were doing.

"And you Mr. Wood," said Miss Kensington, "How did you and Miss Harris happen to meet?"

The question was innocent enough but it took Oliver completely by surprise. He and Darcy had never discussed this before. How could they have been so careless to not have thought up a story? Oh right, they hadn't been speaking. He vaguely remembered Darcy telling Mrs. Faversham that they had been set upon by thieves and arrived at night. Still thinking, he noticed three other couples had heard the question and had drifted over to hear his reply. He looked at Darcy who didn't seem to have heard the question as she had been pleased to be receiving the attentions of that ponce, William Kensington. So Oliver started to spin his yarn.

"Well, Miss Harris was attending school in...uh...in," Blast it! He couldn't remember the country where Harris' fake finishing school was. Darcy seemed to have caught on and supplied him with "In Brussels, my dear." _My dear?_ Oliver repeated to himself. Hearing terms of endearment coming from Harris sounded so out of place.

"Erm, yes. She was at school in Brussels and we met..." he trailed off. Why was he mucking this up? He tried to remain calm and think fast. Darcy had opened her mouth to help him out when an idea came to him. "We first met as children while we both attended separate schools in Brussels. As you know, Brussels have the finest schools in Europe," he paused as the others acquiesced emphatically. He couldn't believe it had worked for him as well as it had worked for Darcy. What was it she had said? _Always,_ always _look like you know what you're doing and act like you're in charge. That way nobody will question you for fear of looking stupid._ She was right. Darcy looked amused and just as interested in what he was about to say as the others. He continued on. "After several years, she had disappeared from my memory and the acquaintance was ended. Then one day I had been riding into the nearest town when my horse threw me and I sprained my ankle. A breathtaking woman with red hair and sparkling green eyes," he paused to look at Darcy by his side while the others chuckled, "had been walking to town as well when she found me, unable to walk or mount my horse. She was able to help me bind my ankle and walked me to the village."

"All under the watchful eye of my school chaperone, of course," Darcy added, just to be sure that there was no thoughts of misbehaviour or reproach on her part. Oliver nodded as if recalling it.

"She set me as far as the healer who fixed me up. From then, we were reintroduced, our acquaintance was reformed and a friendship quickly bloomed. And all because this lovely lass had kindly stopped to help a poor, wounded lad like myself."

"That is ever so romantic," Rebecca Ashmore sighed, clinging to Mr. Woodhouse's arm all the more. Just then supper was announced. As Oliver escorted Darcy into the dining room, Darcy whispered with amusement, "So much for an arranged marriage Wood. Now they all think we're a love match. Also, they're called 'doctors', not 'healers'," Darcy corrected him. A short silence followed.

"That was a very sweet story," Darcy broke the silence, "Where on Earth did you come up with that?"

"That was exactly how my parents met only my Da' fell off his broom and my Mum healed his sprain right then and there," Oliver smiled. Darcy secretly thought that the tale was indeed awfully romantic and wondered what Mr. Wood senior and Mrs. Wood were like.

The dining room was opulently decorated and was clearly meant to impress guests by highlighting the Faversham's wealth and societal status. There was crystal everywhere with floral patterned fine china and highly polished silverware. Supper had been an adventure. It was a terribly confusing affair: half of the menu was illegible being written in French. It surprised the both of them as they never anticipated a menu at someone's house.

"Who has a menu at home? Honestly," Oliver whispered to Darcy, making her giggle.

Ordering was more interesting than the idle chatter being held with their fellow guests. Half the time neither Oliver nor Darcy knew what they were ordering. Also, with being laced into a corset, it was all Darcy could do to manage to eat all six courses. In the end, she and Oliver ended up ordering at random. The appetizer they had was called _Crème facile au Roquefort_ which luckily turned out to be a traditional Scottish dish that Oliver called Auld Alliance. It was quite a tasty dish with the Roquefort cheese doused in whiskey. For the main course Darcy recognized the word _Atlantique_ which she supposed meant seafood of some sort from the Atlantic so she went with that and hoped for the best. It was indeed a salmon fillet served with a dill sauce. Oliver, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky. He had ordered _Langue de veau_ that turned out to be tongue. When Oliver recognized the meat on his plate, he blanched.

"But you eat haggis, don't you? This can't possibly be much worse," Darcy whispered. Oliver looked unconvinced. "Look, I'll try it if you do. If it turns out to be horrible, you can share my plate." Oliver agreed, surprised by how considerate Darcy was being.

They each took a bite. Oliver and Darcy both agreed that once you got past the fact that you were eating a tongue, it had a mild taste, soft texture and tasted like beef. Oliver ended up eating the whole dish and let out a satisfied sigh when he was done. Dessert was a mercifully plain Queen Victoria cake. By the end, Darcy felt like she was about to bust the laces of her corset. It was then that she felt some sharp but brief abdominal cramps. She breathed a stifled gasp but Oliver had heard her.

"Are you okay?" he leaned over and whispered. Darcy was touched to see that he looked concerned. The pain had subsided so she brushed it off.

"I'm fine," she assured him, giving a convincing smile.

Then the men invited Oliver to sit with them as they smoked cigars, drank some of Mr. Faversham's finest brandy and congratulated themselves on being masters of the universe. Oliver accepted out of politeness and though he declined the offered cigar, he did indulge in some of the alcohol finding it similar to Bartleby's Bizarre Brandy that his parents had once bought from Hogsmead. Unfortunately, it came without the pleasant side effects of levitation and the ability to shoot harmless, multicoloured sparks from ones fingertips. The women retired back to the parlour for tea and coffee.

Darcy settled on the couch, wishing she could have some brandy too, and Rebecca Ashmore timidly came to sit next to her. Darcy smiled at her, hopefully making her feel more at ease. After sipping her tea the Slytherin realized that Miss Ashmore would not be the first one to talk so she searched her brain for a suitable topic. She could think of nothing she wanted to talk about except... Jack the Ripper. He was always on her mind so she thought _to hell with a suitable topic_ and cut right to the chase.

"So, Miss Ashmore, what do you think of Jack the Ripper?"

A hush fell over the entire parlour as every set of eyes in the room turned to look at her. Darcy schooled her expression into one of innocent curiosity.

"I hardly think this an appropriate topic for conversation Miss Harris," an affronted Mrs. Faversham said.

"Oh, but I think it fascinating!" said Elizabeth Kensington excitedly, moving to sit on Darcy's other side on the couch. "He has already killed two women!" Miss Kensington went on to say. Darcy seemed to have found an unlikely ally.

"Do you think the letters sent to Scotland Yard are really from the murderer?" asked a frightened Miss Ashmore.

 _The poor girl looks close to tears,_ thought Darcy with a hint of disdain. All of a sudden, the room swam as her vision began to blur a bit. She vaguely noticed Miss Ashmore touch her arm and ask if she was feeling ill.

"I'm – I'm well... It will pass," Darcy tried to ignore the same stabbing pain around her middle and try as she might, she couldn't suppress the hiss that escaped her lips as she grabbed her side in pain.

"Miss Harris is not well!" Miss Ashmore cried more dramatically than Darcy thought her condition warranted. Her breath was getting shorter.

"Could someone get Oliver?" was all Darcy managed to say before her vision went completely black and her head lolled back onto the couch.

A soft knock was heard on the smoking room door and a maid peeked her head in looking for Oliver. Not knowing why he was being summoned to the parlour, he followed the maid. All the women present seemed to be huddled around a limp figure on the couch. A small path was cleared for him. His stomach clenched in a distinctly unpleasant sensation as he saw an unconscious Darcy on the couch.

"What's happened?" he asked worriedly, rushing over.

"She was taking her tea and carrying on the conversation when she simply fainted!" Miss Ashmore informed him. Oliver thought that the girl might just pass out herself.

"I _knew_ this was not a proper discussion topic!" Mrs. Faversham told anyone who would listen.

A maid bustled in carrying a small glass bottle. The cork was removed and the bottle of smelling salts was waved under Darcy's nose. With a jolt, Darcy opened her eyes and looked around, confused.

"What happened?" Darcy looked to Oliver for an explanation.

"You fainted," Oliver said, instinctively sitting next to her and put a soothing hand on her back.

"Oh," was all Darcy said as she opened her fan and waved it a few times half-heartedly. _What bad manners on my part_ , Darcy thought wryly.

"I think we should head home," Oliver suggested. He really was worried about Darcy. He _knew_ something had been wrong earlier when she had gasped. He just hoped to Merlin that it wasn't anything serious or life-threatening.

"Of course! I'll send for the doctor!" Mrs. Faversham cried. Darcy suppressed a roll of her eyes. The old lady was such a drama queen.

"That's really not necessary. The Harris family has their own doctor," Darcy blatantly lied to Mrs. Faversham weakly. "I thank you for your hospitality and it has been a pleasure meeting – meeting y-" Darcy never finished her sentence as her eyelids fluttered closed again and lost consciousness a second time.

Oliver was really worried now. He muttered an apology and thanked Mrs. Faversham again and without a second thought, he picked Darcy up in his arms and carried her across the street to their townhouse.

 **A/N: God, I hate Mrs. Faversham. And yes, John Woodhouse, in name only, was taken from Jane Austen's Emma.**


	8. Chapter 8

-8-

Just as Oliver was carrying the Slytherin up the stairs, the woman in his arms opened her eyes again and looked around with bright green eyes.

"Am I hallucinating or are you carrying me?" Darcy whispered with a grin as she was carried past Berkley in the front hall.

"I'm carrying you since you passed out _twice_ back at the party," Oliver informed her.

"Actually, the second time I fainted, that was faked. That party was lame," Darcy smiled but still looked slightly weak.

"But the first time was for real?" Oliver asked, not sure if he'd ever be able to tell if she was lying or being sincere.

"The first time was real," Darcy nodded.

Looking at her closely, he noticed how pale she looked and saw faint freckles he'd never seen before on the bridge of her nose. "You should have told me you didn't feel well," he told her seriously.

"For a while I felt fine. Then it just kind of hit me," Darcy shrugged a bit as Oliver gently kicked open the door to her room and then kicked it shut behind them. The Quidditch captain paused at Darcy's bedside. Just before he was about to lay her down on the bed, she peered up at him and before she could stop herself she blurted, "You're a really sweet person, did you know that?"

Oliver stood stunned. Did she really just compliment him?

"Am _I_ hallucinating or did you just compliment me?" Oliver grinned. Darcy flushed.

"I was only stating a fact," Darcy said softly, not meeting his eyes.

She swore mentally. Why was she being such an idiot right now? She was always so in control of her tongue and she hadn't even been drinking! Now it had a mind of its own and seemed to delight in betraying her feelings.

"Well thanks for the compliment all the same but if it makes you feel better, I can attribute it to your lightheaded condition," he suggested.

Darcy ignored his remark. "You know, you can put me down now. I'm feeling better."

Oliver smirked. "You'd have to take your arms out of the death grip they have around my neck first."

Damn it! When had her arms migrated around his neck?! And without her permission! She unlatched her arms and he set her down gently.

"Do you want me to call Mary in to get the dress off?" Oliver asked, recalling the last time he had helped her with her dress.

Darcy was about to say yes but then remembered that she had been the one to (stupidly) instruct Mary to lace her corset tighter and she just knew that Mary would blame herself for Darcy's temporary ailment.

"No, actually. I was the one who told Mary to lace me tighter and I don't want her to feel guilty for listening to me. She's such a sweet girl," Darcy explained. She bit her lip,

"Could you do it? Please?"

She quickly rolled onto her stomach so that Oliver could access her back and also so she could conveniently hide her horribly hot face. When had she developed this infuriating habit of blushing? Darcy vowed to stop it that very instant. She was a mature adult.

Oliver sighed to himself. Did she really believe him to be a robot? To believe that he had no hormones whatsoever? He undid the buttons to the dress a little faster this time. Darcy had had a hard night and he didn't want to torment her. With the back open, he noticed that instead of seeing the laces like he did the last time, there was another layer between the dress and the corset.

"Um... This wasn't here last time..." Oliver said. Darcy could hear the confusion in his voice.

"Oh right. I didn't have that layer last time. Apparently I was putting my clothes on all wrong," she laughed, remembering how Mary had to teach her to put on all five layers properly. Darcy rolled on to her back, sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up immediately making her dress pool on the floor.

Oliver quickly looked away. Darcy rolled her eyes.

"For heaven's sake Wood, you can look. It's not like I'm down to my knickers." She pulled her second layer over her head. She was down to the corset and the bustle.

"Sweet Merlin! What is that... that _thing_?" Oliver had looked over and was now pointing at the steel cage that was the bustle.

"It's called a bustle. Surely you aren't thick enough to think my skirts stuck out naturally," Darcy told him as she untied it from around her waist.

"I know that but I didn't think it looked like an instrument of torture."

"Just thank Merlin you're not a girl then. You're such a sissy Wood," Darcy teased.

Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Can you undo the laces now?" Darcy asked.

Again Oliver steeled himself as he loosened the laces grommet by grommet. Darcy could feel the heat of his hands as they brushed along the thin cotton of her final layer of clothing. She took deeper and deeper breaths, relishing in the feeling of oxygen rushing to her starving lungs as the corset became looser.

Oliver, meanwhile, could hear her practically gulping in the air through her mouth and bit his lip hard at the sound of her heavy breathing. He couldn't help himself from touching her back either, silently teasing her just a bit.

"There. Done," Oliver said, stepping back. As soon as he had moved, Darcy flung off the corset where it hit the wall with a surprisingly loud sound. Oliver arched an eyebrow at it.

"It's the stays that keep its form. They're made of whale bone," Darcy explained with a shrug.

Darcy now seemed to realize that she was down to her thin cotton shift that left little to the imagination. She quickly grabbed her dressing gown and held it up to her chest trying to look nonchalant about it.

"Well... Thanks for your help Wood," Darcy offered him a half-smile.

"Hey, no worries," he said. Oliver was on his way to his room when he caught sight of Darcy's back in the floor length mirror behind her and was able to quite plainly see through her cotton chemise and caught a glimpse of her white cotton knickers and thigh-high stockings.

"You might want to, erm, watch your back there Harris," he said, voice poorly disguising a chuckle, as he indicated the mirror behind her. Darcy looked to the mirror he was indicating and gasped, eyes wide.

"Get out you creep!" Darcy shooed Oliver out the adjoining door to his room but was laughing at the same time. "I'll not have you checking me out without my knowledge!" she teased.

"Oh, but you'll let me check you out _with_ your knowledge, right?" Oliver teased back.

" _Goodnight_ , Wood!" Darcy shut the door on his handsome, smiling face with a smile of her own. She pressed her hand against the polished wood of the door for a moment before removing the ostrich feathers from her hair and headed to her wardrobe.

She needed to get ready.

Louis Diemschutz had had a long day at work. He thinked of all the wealthy people in London who didn't do nufing but go to parties and theatre shows and play cricket all day. And here he were, workin' his fingers to the bone just tryin' to earn an honest livin' by selling 'em cheap jewelry.

The clopping of his pony's hooves on the cobbled streets of London at 1:00 am was real eerie. He pulled into Dutfield's Yard, ready to finally get to his bed. He was knackered. He tried to get his pony to keep movin' just a bit further into the yard but she shied and wouldn't move no more.

Sighing, he got down from his cart and saw a body lying in the way. He rolled his eyes, suspecting a drunkard. He took his riding crop and nudged the body. Nufing. He tried a bit harder. Still nufing. He moved a bit closer and stepped in a large pool of something dark and sticky-like. It was pitch black and he couldn't see nufing.

Louis decided to head into the nearby men's club to get help moving the dang body. He got two men who had them a lantern. When they moved to the body, Louis seen he had stepped in blood. There lied a woman with the throat slit. She were dead. He reckoned it were the Ripper who didn't have time to dig out her innards.

Even before that body had been discovered, Darcy had been getting dressed. She had made the decision that day to go out and look for some clues as to the identity of Jack the Ripper. She could stand by no longer; her guilt was eating her up. She also knew it was incredibly risky. Even with magic it would had been a dangerous expedition.

Darcy waited a good two hours after she saw Oliver's bedroom lights go out through the crack under the door before she left her own room. She could just imagine Wood's lecture if he had known what she was planning. She wouldn't have put it past him to chain her to her bed just to stop her. _Wow, of all the ways he has to stop me, I have to think of the kinkiest_. Darcy shook her head, trying to clear the mental image. She had a job to do.

She rang the bell for Mary to help her dress and had her promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone. She donned her blandest, plainest dress: an unembellished pearl grey dress with a dark grey hooded wool cloak. Even in that outfit she'd probably be the best-dressed woman in Whitechapel among the prostitutes and beggars. She briefly wondered if she would need some sort of weapon and could think only of a knife. That idea was immediately abandoned; she would only succeed in harming herself before she could inflict harm on anyone trying to hurt her. She headed swiftly down the steps and out the door as silently as possible only after she had ascertained that no maids or Berkley were lurking in the shadows.

Drawing the cloak's hood over her head as she stepped out of the townhouse, she realized she had no idea how to get to Whitechapel. Instead of admitting defeat, Darcy drew back her shoulders in determination and set off to look for a cab that could take her. Again, before she could get far, she remembered she had no money and no cab was going to take her on the promise of credit. She huffed in frustration and, as a last resort, headed to the carriage house in the rear of her townhouse to see if she could get her own carriage to take her. She was a bit worried that her family crest would be seen around that part of town but she had no other options beyond staying home. She would certainly not choose the latter. Her guilt was too great to ignore any longer.

She walked back into the house and made her way to the servant's quarters and had one of the carriage drivers roused. She asked for a carriage to be readied and was satisfied that he asked no questions. Besides, it wasn't his business to know where his mistress was going. After a half-hour, Darcy impatiently gave the driver her destination – Whitechapel – and climbed into the carriage. She didn't know where to look exactly; she only knew the district where Jack the Ripper operated. She winced to herself at the thought of the word 'operated'.

The driver took off and she winced again as the rumble of the heavy carriage seemed to echo off the silent houses. Eventually, she could make out figures under gaslights in the foggy air; most likely beggars or prostitutes. When she thought she had gone far enough, she beat against the roof of the carriage and it came to a stop on a street corner. Darcy took a deep breath and stepped out without waiting for help.

"Wait here," she ordered as the driver nodded, looking around warily. She took a note of the intersecting streets where her carriage waited and took off in a random direction. She took hurried steps as she passed women who mostly paid her no mind. They were more interested in the men that passed by. Darcy saw quite a number of them being propositioned.

Block after block was illuminated in wavering gaslights, throwing menacing shadows over everything. The smell was the one she remembered from her first night there: a mix of smoke, dung and damp earth.

She was just on the edge of Mitre Square. The name struck a bell but she couldn't fathom why. She approached the square when a man had sidled up beside her without a sound. She jumped when a sly voice sounded far too close to her ear.

"Well aren't you a pretty little thing," he drawled. He was clearly upper class from his accent and clothing but his tone of voice hinted at danger.

Darcy spun around to the owner of the voice, heart hammering.

"You're a new one, aren't you?" he leered.

"A new w-what?" Darcy stammered, trying to look for a way out.

Darcy looked at the man in the misty light. He was rather short in stature but quite stocky, wearing dark clothes that she wasn't particularly paying attention to; she was busy trying to watch where she was going. She really didn't want to be backed into a wall or corner. His close-set, phlegm colored eyes trained greedily on a spot about a foot below her face. He took a few steps closer causing Darcy to back away.

"A dollymop," he got closer.

Darcy had no clue as to what a dollymop might be but it didn't sound good. Darcy flinched away but not quickly enough as the man suddenly took a lunge towards her and grabbed her arm with one hand and pushed her hood back with the other.

Another smile full of white teeth asked, "How much?"

Darcy's stomach dropped as she realized what a dollymop was. She wrenched her arm away in disgust, her eyes darting around for anyone who might help. She could see dark shapes moving in the depths of the square. Just then she felt fingers unfastening her cloak. The man's eyes and smile widened as if he'd won the jackpot when her cloak fell away from her frame.

"My my, you wouldn't happen to be a toffer, would you?"

Again, Darcy was lost but whatever he was calling her can't have been good. He reached out a hand again to touch her hair but this time she slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me," she growled, sounding far braver then she felt.

"Bit of a tease, aren't you? You really must be new. Whores shouldn't put up a fight; it's poor salesmanship," he lurched in and was able to latch on to a fistful of her hair.

Darcy retaliated with a punch to the face which he easily deflected. He pulled her in closer and she was hit with a wave of whiskey on his breath. He pulled her hair painfully as her back felt exactly what she had been trying to avoid: a brick wall. Darcy's heart was hammering loudly in her chest as she struggled for more air than her corset would allow. She had known they would be the death of her. She opened her mouth to scream but her assailant foresaw this and covered her mouth with a large hand.

"Come now, we both know this is what you're here for," he removed the hand from her hair, still pinning her with his hand over her mouth, as he reached down to pull her skirts up.

She did all she could think of and brought a knee up into his groin. She hit her mark and the man released her with a groan as he doubled over. From there she ran blindly through the square, entirely forgetting where she had parked her coach. She saw a dark shape that lay moaning on the ground just in time to jump over it; her panicked mind told her it was a drunk. Tears were falling unbidden down her face as she gasped for air, trying to hold back sobs. She heard footsteps running after her.

An angry voice shouted at her. "You little whore! I'll get what I want from you!"

Darcy ran even faster, hitching her skirts up as much as she could as they weighed her down. Under normal circumstances she could run much faster but with the weight of the dress, the corset and her pitiful shoes, she could only hope to find someone who would help her.

 **A/N: In regards to the last chapter, what ails Darcy is actually a real occurance for casual corset wearers where it gets really hot suddenly and pain can shoot through your body.**

 **As for "toffers" and "dollymops" these are real slang terms for prostitutes back in 1888 though they designate a high-class type of woman. Due to the way Darcy is dressed, these terms are appropriate and the creepy man probably is thinking he's gotten insanely lucky.**


	9. Chapter 9

-9-

Just as Darcy rounded a corner, she collided with a solid object. Stunned and out of breath, she fell back to the ground. She heard shoes skid to a halt behind her; surely it was her attacker come to "get what he wanted" from her. Victorian London was an awful, awful place.

"Miss Harris?!" a shocked voice asked. Darcy looked up to see none other than William Kensington. She felt like latching on to his legs in gratefulness.

Another out of breath voice, the one of her would-be attacker, seemed surprised as well.

"Kensington! My apologies sir, I did not realize she was one of yours," he seemed to make a small bow to her saviour.

"Honest mistake, Mr. Rothwell, I'm sure," Kensington replied.

Darcy saw Rothwell give a nod to Mr. Kensington and add, "She's a wild one Kensington, watch yourself." He spared Darcy a glare as he turned and left the side street.

"Are you well? What happened?" Kensington asked as he helped her to her feet.

 _Of course I'm not bloody well! I almost just got raped and/or murdered!_ she screamed in her head.

"Your Mr. Rothwell just tried to...to..." how was she supposed to say 'rape' in a polite way? "He mistook me for a dollymop," she finally said, past caring about whether this was a polite term or not. Kensington didn't seem the least surprised.

"I had figured as much. Mr. Rothwell is known around here for...enjoying the company of women with loose morals."

Darcy suppressed an eye roll. Trust Victorian men to put something so disagreeable in such subtle terms.

"Did you come here by carriage?" Kensington asked.

"Yes. I stopped it a few blocks back the way I came. On the corner of Lloyd's Avenue and Fenchurch Street," her now clearer brain recalled.

"Shall we search for it together?" he asked.

Darcy nodded in assent. Without asking, Mr. Kensington placed his own cloak around Darcy's shoulders. She hadn't realized she had lost hers and that she'd been shaking.

Then Darcy remembered something that Rothwell had said.

"What did Mr. Rothwell mean by saying he hadn't realized I was 'one of yours'?"

Kensington was quiet for a moment before he answered, "It is of no concern for a woman of your status."

 _What the hell?_ Darcy thought in affront. _He's withholding information because I'm just a weak little woman who can't handle the truth? And why the hell is he even down here?_

Darcy didn't press the matter as he had likely saved her life. Still, she was highly insulted.

Together they found her carriage, she handed his cloak back to him while thanking him profusely and he saw her safely off to her townhouse in Hanover Square.

When she arrived, she slipped back inside the house through the servant's entrance in the back courtyard. Once back inside her warm and safe room, Darcy pressed her back against the door, slid to the floor and cried a good long while until she felt marginally better. It took her the better part of an hour to get her dress unbuttoned and unlaced by herself and shoved it deep into the back of her wardrobe, never intending to wear it again.

Putting on her nightdress, she couldn't believe how stupid she had been. She had the almost irresistible urge to creep into Oliver's bedroom and confess everything to him; she wanted to be held and told she was safe. But she knew nothing of the sort would occur.

He would most likely bellow at her for her stupidity, waking the entire household and then tell her to stop crying and go to bed. The thought made a few more tears seep out from under her closed eyelids. She tossed and turned for what was left of the night until morning light leaked through her curtains.

Little did Darcy know that a body was found in Mitre Square that night. This body hardly resembled a body at all. The woman's face was heavily mutilated with a knife and her abdomen was lying open. Its contents, mainly the intestines, were flung over her right shoulder and her right ear had been sliced off. Two feet of intestine had been detached and tucked between her torso and left arm, seemingly on purpose. This one the Ripper had finished off properly. Darcy, mistaking the body for a drunkard, had jumped right over her dying remains.

The whole of the next day Darcy had spoken very little and had been entirely too pale. Oliver worried that she might have eaten something rancid. After ascertaining that she felt fine, ("For the millionth time, I'm _fine_ , Wood!") Oliver read of the discovery of two more dead bodies in the evening edition of the paper. _Two_ deadinone night! Oliver said they'd found the first one in Dutfield's Yard – this one hadn't been mutilated – and the second in Mitre Square. Darcy blanched even more, if it were possible.

Darcy wondered how she possibly could have missed the murder; she had been _right there_! Of course, she had been a little busy trying not to get raped but she thought a murder taking place might have been obvious. Then she remembered jumping over what she had assumed to be a drunken body moaning on the ground. Sweet Jesus. Had she jumped over the body of one of Jack's victims? For the sake of her own sanity, she chose to believe it was a drunkard.

Her train of disturbing thoughts was derailed when she and Oliver heard a knock at the door. A few seconds later, Berkley appeared and announced Mr. William Kensington come to call. Darcy looked surprised but not as displeased as Oliver thought she ought to. Hadn't she noticed how he had ogled her at that party, his gaze slipping to a point below her face a little too often?

He waltzed into the parlour where Darcy and Oliver were and gave a charming smile directed entirely at the lady. Darcy beamed back. Oliver barley hid a scowl.

"I've come to enquire after the lady," William stated, "You gave us all quite a fright at the Favershams, Miss Harris." He gave her a knowing look, indicating he was also checking on her because of last night's events in Mitre Square.

"Oh, I am well, thank you. I'm terribly sorry for having to leave the party so soon."

"It is nothing serious, I hope?" William asked, all the while completely ignoring Oliver.

"Not at all. I am quite recovered," Darcy blushed at the attention.

William was doing that smolder thing again. He really was a handsome and charming man by all accounts.

"If you'd like, I have a background in medicine and I would be happy to look you over if ever you feel the least bit poorly," William stepped a bit closer to Darcy as if to sit down.

Oliver was shocked. He was sitting _right there_ for Merlin's sake! He was Harris' fiancée and William Kensington was hitting on her! Blatantly! He cleared his throat.

For the first time since his arrival William spared at glance at Oliver. It was full of irritation. _What a dick_ , Oliver thought.

"I meant to check on you later that evening but I had... a prior engagement in the Whitechapel district," William informed Darcy. Darcy digested that information.

"Do you go to Whitechapel often?" she asked, hoping to sound offhand. She didn't want Oliver getting suspicious.

Kensington smiled at the comment but chose not to answer. "Now that I have ascertained that you are well, I ought to be going. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Miss Harris," another dazzling smile, "Mr. Wood," a disdainful look.

Before taking his leave, William closed the distance between himself and Darcy, took her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles all while keeping his dark eyes on Darcy's. That kiss lingered _far_ too long and was entirely inappropriate in Oliver's opinion. He expected Darcy to slap him any second now... Any second... But no slap came. With that, Mr. William Kensington left.

"What an ass!" Oliver muttered, loud enough for Darcy to hear.

"What, don't you like him?" Darcy asked, still looking after the place William had recently vacated.

"Merlin's beard, no! Harris, he wants to ' _look you over_ '!" Oliver mimicked with some vaguely rude hand gestures, "Please tell me you can see he was hitting on you. Not to mention right in front of me!"

Darcy looked confused for a short moment before a slow smile spread across her face. She just stood in front of Oliver with that annoying smirk on her lips.

"What?" Oliver asked, knowing very well what she was smiling at.

"You're _jealous_!" Darcy kept on smiling, pleased.

"Oh please. You know I hold no feelings for you apart from your wellbeing," Oliver stated, grabbing the newspaper and pretending to scan it.

"But it still bothers you that a gorgeous man is flirting with me," Darcy took a seat which offered a good vantage point of Oliver's countenance.

"You find him gorgeous?" he scoffed, "You have horrible taste in men. Then again, you did date within your own House and there's not much there either," Oliver bit out.

Darcy didn't acknowledge the jab. "Maybe I _should_ get him to look me over sometime..." Darcy baited, watching Oliver carefully.

She saw his fingers grasp the newspaper far tighter than necessary. She was getting to him. She couldn't imagine how angry he'd be if he knew Kensington had been her white knight just last night.

"And it doesn't bother you that we're getting married soon," Oliver retorted.

"It's called an affair, Wood. You have my permission to have one too if it makes you feel any better," Darcy stated, examining her nails.

"That's not the point, Darcy!" Oliver stopped.

The pair realized that it was the first time Oliver had addressed Darcy by her fist name.

"Forget it," Oliver muttered and stalked out the room, shaking his head.

Darcy now felt her enjoyment of the situation ebbing as she realized how truly angry Oliver was with this development. She sighed. She felt incredibly stupid. She knew she should stop interacting with everyone around her for their own safety (not to mention her own, she thought with a shudder) and for the sake of preserving the natural timeline of events. She sank to the couch and hung her head, feeling guilty.

Oliver had stormed off to his room after his unwanted outburst. He didn't really have anywhere he could go where Darcy couldn't find him unless he went outside but it was getting dark and London was, he admitted to himself, a scary place. Sure, part of the magical world was situated in London and he was familiar with those places.

Where he was now felt new and foreign and Oliver disliked it. He hated the clothing, the stuffy social conventions, the smells, the sounds... he hated everything. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He realized that Darcy Harris was his anchor. Without her here, he would be adrift in a world where he didn't belong.

Oliver was then struck by a frightening thought. _Darcy Harris didn't need him._ What more was he then dead weight? Darcy was having _fun_. What did she care about his troubles? She had the dashing Mr. Kensington to look after her. He made a face thinking about that man.

Maybe he could break off the engagement and just run away. Maybe even fake his death and run back to the magical London. While it was tempting to just disappear, he knew he wouldn't leave. He would stay with Darcy and protect her from herself if he had to.

Immersed in his misery, he only just made out a tentative knock on his door. With a weary sigh, he went to open the door. There stood Darcy with a concerned look on her face. Oliver went back to the chair he had recently occupied but left the door open.

Darcy entered the room, shut the door quietly and sat gingerly on the side of his bed. She was biting her lip and casting brief but worried glances at the Scot. She was worried for two reasons: first and foremost being that she knew he was angry and he had a formidable temper, and second being that she knew she had to apologize.

She apologized so seldom that she knew it would come out all garbled and might possibly unintentionally insult him in some way. But one thing was for sure, she wouldn't ever tell him about what she had done so foolishly last night. She took a breath and stared at the empty grate of the fireplace. She waited until she felt Oliver's eyes on her.

Fixing her gaze on the floor – she knew she couldn't manage meeting his eyes – she gave it a go: "I didn't mean to upset you and I'm sorry. I just – I wasn't thinking and I shouldn't have encouraged Kensington's attentions. It was selfish of me to do it."

"I don't think the carpet is the one your apology is directed at," Oliver said.

It wasn't that he was being cruel on purpose. He knew how rare it was for Darcy to apologize to anyone but he wanted her to look him in the eye and say it so that he knew she was capable of sincerity. She did tend to lie to him a lot.

"Look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Please," he asked gently.

He waited, his brown eyes locked on her green.

Darcy repeated the apology again in more or less the same words. Even looking into his eyes, she found it easier to say it the second time around. She was also surprised by how much she meant it.

She waited a beat as Oliver seemed to be judging whether her apology was real or not, gave a brief nod signaling he thought it was, and stated "Apology accepted."

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. A thought occurred and she looked at him warily. "You're really forgiving me that easily?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Yes. Is that so hard to believe? Friends forgive and trust each other. No strings attached," he smiled.

Darcy's heart skipped a beat.

"And I would really appreciate it if you didn't start an affair with Kensington. We're trying to limit our connections with people, aren't we? I was only angry –" he cut himself off before he said 'because I care about you' and finished with a, "– because we need to be careful."

Darcy nodded and headed towards the adjoining door between their rooms. "Well, when you put it that way, I'll be faithful to you."

"Sleep well, Harris," Wood called gently.

Darcy turned slightly and offered a "You too," with a soft smile.

As Darcy got ready for bed, the normally tight leash she kept on her feelings for Oliver Wood snapped and unwanted thoughts concerning the Quidditch captain flooded her brain: his amazing work ethic, his impeccable manners, his hands, his eyes, his lips, his athleticism, his sense of humour, his tanned skin, his mischievous smirk, his friendship, his loyalty. He had faults enough but somehow they didn't come to mind as Darcy slipped into bed, wriggling her feet to chase away the creeping chill of early-October. Darcy looked up at the ceiling and wondered when the huge smile she was wearing had found its way onto her lips. She didn't really care that it had. Her last thought before drifting off to sleep was that the Wood family had raised one bloody marvellous son.

 **A/N: A small note to mention that I spell my words with "ou" as it's done in Britain and the Commonwealth. In case you were wondering.**

 **Review please?**


	10. Chapter 10

-10-

The next morning when Oliver and Darcy sat down to breakfast, everything was perfectly normal and routine until Oliver casually sucked some marmalade off the middle finger of his left hand.

At that simple gesture, a dream that Darcy had just last night came rushing back to her recollection and she dropped her spoon into the bowl of porridge before her. Her eyes widened as more and more detail cascaded into her mind's eye and Darcy Harris felt a horribly hot and distinctly uncomfortable sensation rising to her cheeks.

She kept her eyes fixed on the sugar bowl slightly to her right as visions of the man in front of her raged through her mind like wildfire. There were dark eyes, there was precious little clothing, there was firelight, there were hands _everywhere_ , and there were two bodies so entwined that it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

What made it worse, in Darcy's opinion, was that is wasn't even one of those dreams that felt like you were watching a movie. No, Darcy had been on the receiving end of this one. Bloody hell, she had probably been the instigator but her recollection didn't go that far back.

Her brain was still stuck on the feel of the branding his lips had given her body as she had grabbed fistfuls of his hair in pleasure. That was the worst part: she had enjoyed it all immensely.

Oliver, of course, noticed Darcy's widened eyes when he had looked up at the sound of her spoon clattering into her bowl. The poor girl looked petrified; he imagined that's what a Basilisk's victim would look like.

"Are you alright?" Oliver asked, ducking his head trying to catch Darcy's eye.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. His voice that had moaned her name over and over last night. _Stop it!_ Darcy shook her head to clear it.

"Sorry, what?" Darcy inwardly cringed at the breathless sound of her voice.

"I asked if you were alright. You were fine one minute and the next you looked like you were frozen in your seat. You still sort of look like a deer in the beam of _lumos maxima_."

"It's nothing. I'm fine," Darcy's voice betrayed her; clearly demonstrating that she wasn't fine.

"Wait a minute," Oliver peered at Darcy, "Are you _blushing_?"

"I, sir, do not _blush_ ," she spat the word as if it were foul tasting. "I just find it slightly warm in here."

No sooner had those words left her mouth that visible goose bumps appeared on her skin. Darcy had to fight the very strong urge to push her bowl of porridge aside and bash her head repeatedly against the mahogany table.

"Liar," Oliver called her out. "Tell me," Oliver coaxed, giving her a crooked grin and looking at her with those eyes.

 _When had brown eyes become so sexy?_ she wondered. She had always thought she was more of a blue eyes kind of girl. Darcy clenched her teeth and shook her head vehemently like a stubborn child refusing to eat her vegetables.

"Did I do something wrong?" Oliver asked.

 _Dear God, you did everything right last night!_ Darcy thought.

Darcy huffed. She knew he wouldn't leave her alone until he knew and she would feel bad if she let him think he was in the wrong.

"If you must know, I had a bad dream and I just remembered it. Jack the Ripper was disemboweling me," Darcy lied.

Oliver studied her with the keen eyes of a Keeper. She was lying; he was sure of it. Being with her for weeks on end hadn't gone idly by for Oliver. He had started noticing things about her that would normally go unnoticed. For example, she was left-handed, she took her tea with a splash of milk, she preferred going barefoot around the house when she thought no one noticed.

He had only recently believed himself able to tell when she was lying because she would tilt her chin up slightly as if to challenge someone to defy her statement. He thought she must do it unconsciously but it made perfect sense. It was just like Darcy to try and intimidate someone into believing her. That small tilt plainly said 'You know you're wrong and I'm right' and she was doing it now.

"You're lying," Oliver whispered. "Now I just need to know if it's about Jack the Ripper," he paused, no reaction, "Or about the dream?" he finished and...

Right there! Darcy did that barely perceptible head tilt and did his eyes deceive him or did her cheeks get a little pinker?

"Ah! So it was the dream, yeah?" Oliver smirked.

Darcy's eyes widened. How did he know? He had never been able to tell when she was lying before!

To Darcy's complete horror, a look of comprehension dawned on Oliver's face.

"I'll bet it was one of _those_ dreams, wasn't it?" Oliver unsuccessfully hid a snicker.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Darcy said, pointedly ignoring the man across from her.

"You know exactly what I mean. I bet it was really kinky," Oliver laughed. "So who was it about? Flint?" Oliver taunted.

"Ugh! If my dream had been about him, I would have already Obliviated myself!" Darcy declared before realizing her mistake.

She had pretty much just confirmed what the subject of her dream had been but mercifully not the star of it.

"Hmm. William Kensington?" Oliver taunted again.

"I will never tell you, Mr. Wood," Darcy narrowed her eyes playfully at him but meaning what she said. "Now _drop_ _it_."

"Oh wait, I know! It was Snape!" Oliver laughed openly.

"My God! What is _wrong_ with you? That's just disgusting!" Darcy made a face but chuckled despite herself. "That may be _your_ fantasy, but it certainly isn't mine!"

"Oh Merlin," Oliver shuddered at the thought, "I take it back."

He held up his hands in surrender and Darcy, if only for a brief moment, let her thoughts revisit short snippets from the dream.

The rest of the day had passed incredibly quickly for Darcy even though it had been spent with (an uninvited) Mrs. Faversham. Darcy didn't actually mind though seeing as it did concern her wedding.

The big event was only days away and more work still needed to be done. Oliver had impressed Darcy when he offered to help with the plans, not wanting to anger Darcy like he had last time by abandoning her to the prying clutches of Mrs. Faversham, but Darcy had declined.

This surprised Oliver but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Had this been his own _real_ wedding, he obviously would have wanted to help but then again, if it were real Mrs. Faversham would _not_ be there. So Oliver had occupied himself with organizing the honeymoon with the help of Mr. Faversham.

Darcy Harris had never learnt so much about Victorian weddings as she did in those few days. Apparently, the dress was not usually white. Darcy had decided that her dress would be bottle-green. After all, it was Slytherin's colour and set off her red hair to perfection. A few days after deciding on her dress, she found a poem in a book of poetry while curled up in the small library of the townhouse:

 _Married in White, you have chosen right,  
Married in Blue, your love will always be true,  
Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl,  
Married in Brown, you will live in town,  
Married in Red, you will wish yourself dead,  
Married in Yellow, ashamed of your fellow,  
Married in Green, ashamed to be seen,  
Married in Pink, your spirit will sink,  
Married in Grey, you will go far away,  
Married in Black, you will wish yourself back._

According to the poem, she should be ashamed to be seen. However, that was not the case. She was in no way ashamed to be seen; not beside someone like Oliver but she thought it funny nonetheless.

She also had no idea what " _Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl_ " meant.

It would have been more accurate to have dressed in black. She _did_ wish herself back. She missed home more and more as every day passed.

She and Mrs. Faversham had pored over books to see if they could incorporate anything Scottish to the attire. In a bit of a miracle, they had found the Wood Clan's crest and Darcy nearly burst out laughing when she noticed that the colours of the Clan were green and silver. Now she was convinced that some higher power was at work here.

Mrs. Faversham suggested weaving oak leaves in her bouquet of orange blossoms. The oak leaves were present because it was the representative tree of the Wood's and orange blossoms stood for good fortune, eternal love and – Darcy's wasn't so keen on this last meaning – fertility. Regardless, it would look beautiful.

It was the day of the wedding and Darcy felt incredibly ill and this time it wasn't because her corset was too tight. She couldn't actually wrap her head around the idea that in only a couple of short hours she would be a married woman. This whole thing was ludicrous! She wondered if Oliver felt as sick and nervous as she did. She suspected not. Men never seemed to cared about events like this.

However, Darcy was sure that if he were marrying a woman he loved he would care very much. Oliver was just the sort of person who would be loyal to a fault in regards to his loved ones. As to where Darcy was concerned, he probably couldn't give a damn. In all likelihood, he had never liked her in any kind of remotely romantic capacity.

Darcy was starting to realize that the person she was at Hogwarts was a right bloody bitch. She talked down to everyone, she gloated as much as possible, she took advantage of her good looks and she manipulated anyone to get what she wanted. Even the pathetic excuses she used to justify her actions sounded weak to her own ears.

What was it Oliver had said to her all those weeks ago? _"Is that why you're so evil? Because you hate yourself?"_ Good God, he thought she was evil. Darcy felt a foreign emotion at the mere memory. It was shame. She _did_ hate herself. Well, hated her persona at Hogwarts at the very least.

She was incredibly mean to younger Muggle-borns because they represented everything she wanted to be but couldn't. They were free to be themselves without fear of rejection from their peers. They had friends who accepted them for who they were; friends who couldn't care less about blood status. She envied them beyond belief and for that, she hated them.

She wondered again for the umpteenth time what House she should really be in. She was definitely a hard worker but loyalty, patience and value of fair play weren't exactly on her list of desirable traits so Hufflepuff was out.

She was reasonably smart and she had wit but would never be clever enough to answer a riddle correctly every time she had to get into her common room. Being a Ravenclaw would leave her sleeping just outside the common room more often than not.

Gryffindor valued bravery, daring, nerve and chivalry. Darcy smiled to herself, thinking this fit Oliver to a tee. She, on the other hand, was not very daring and was definitely lacking in the bravery department though she valued these traits. She was a coward for hiding her heritage and for lying to everybody at school.

This left Slytherin. Her house was all about cunning, ambition and resourcefulness. Darcy felt that she embodied these traits quite well and figured that she was rightfully a Slytherin. However, another niggling thought told her that she only exhibited these traits because she had to in order to fit in. She was nothing if not resourceful because she had to lie and deceive others just to find a place to belong.

Maybe she could have been a Gryffindor given the opportunity. In any case, it was too late now. There was no going back.

Trying to clear her head of all these depressing thoughts, Darcy mentally prepared herself for getting ready for the ceremony that would be happening in less than three hours time. She sat up in bed in darkness waiting for Mary to come in and help her dress. She still hated the thought of having someone to help her dress.

Not for the first time since she and Oliver had "arrived" in Victorian London, Darcy wanted to go home. She missed her mother and father horribly. She missed her friends (although there weren't many that she now considered true friends). She actually missed her classes and the castle. She missed the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest and the Great Hall. She definitely missed Quidditch. She could only imagine how Oliver felt about the matter. Heaving a small sigh, she heard Mary knock on the door and enter.

On his side of the adjoining door, Oliver was feeling... well, he wasn't sure how he felt. His stomach felt as though it was in knots and he had the distinct impression that last night's dinner was about to revisit him in a most unpleasant way. This shouldn't be a big deal to him. All he had to do was say "I do" and get the hell out of there.

In his free time while Darcy was organizing the ceremony with Mrs. Faversham, Oliver had made his way over to see Mr. Faversham. In his visits, he had gone over everything that had to be done. Mercifully, Oliver had realized that on the whole, Victorian weddings were similar to magical ceremonies without the magical element, of course.

The honeymoon – Oliver cringed at the thought – was all planned out as he and Darcy would be going to Darcy's parent's country house in Faversham, Kent. Oliver found this incredibly ironic. He really hoped the Faversham's didn't also live there. Apparently the house was called Belmont House and according to Mr. Faversham, it was one of the finest estates in the country though he had never visited.

Reluctantly, Oliver donned his kilt and Prince Charlie jacket. Physically, he was ready to get married, mentally he was a mess. It got to the point that he just wanted this over and done with. This whole wedding was a massive waste of his time. Time he could put to better use in figuring out a way to get back to Hogwarts and to his friends and family.

He glanced once at his reflection and, satisfied with his appearance, he strode out of the townhouse and was off to the church with his best man in attendance. His best man turned out to be John Woodhouse whom he had met only a few weeks ago at the so-called engagement party at the Faversham's residence. Of him and Mr. Kensington, Mr. Woodhouse was by far the preferable choice.

It didn't really matter anyway.

 **A/N: Not only does Darcy not know what "live in a whirl" means; I don't know either. Any ideas?**


	11. Chapter 11

-11-

The guests were all assembled in the church pews and were chatting happily with each other. Darcy was reminded about how crazy this all was as she noticed she knew no one beyond the select few she had met at her engagement party. Miss Rebecca Ashmore was her maid of honour and for that she was thankful. Rebecca was a sweet girl, if a little bland. She was extremely soft spoken and said very little which pleased Darcy greatly after having to stand Mrs. Faversham's incessant prattle at all times.

Darcy glanced down at her attire one last time. Her dress, as planned, was a plain bottle green silk dress with a neckline that covered her neck entirely (uncomfortable!), tight sleeves that covered her arms down to her wrists and had a bustle that extended to a full court train that Darcy estimated would measure close to the length of the aisle she'd be walking.

Despite what was appropriate, Darcy refused to wear a bonnet or a veil and instead opted for an elaborate updo with a crown of oak leaves. _To hell with convention, I'm not wearing a damn bonnet,_ Darcy thought to herself. She picked up her bouquet which consisted of white orange blossoms that smelt wonderful and had the symbolic oak leaves woven into it.

Satisfied, Darcy took the offered arm of Mr. Faversham (she really knew no other men suitable for the job) and exhaled a short breath as the doors opened and she walked down the aisle.

The whole wedding went by in a haze for both Oliver and Darcy. Oliver hadn't been fully prepared to see Darcy walking down the aisle looking the way she did. He obviously had expected her to be gorgeous but Darcy seemed to be exuding some sort of ethereal glow. Oliver wasn't quite sure if this was some sort of unconscious magic or a trick of the light. All he knew was that he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

He felt a smile grace his face as he stared in wonder at the woman approaching him. Never in a million years did he think he would be getting married to Darcy Harris. Strangest of all, he didn't seem to mind the fact now that it was happening. He felt the pressure was off because this was all bogus and Darcy had absolutely no expectations of him. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to care about anything other than Darcy Harris.

Darcy was experiencing similar feelings in regards to Oliver. All of the beautiful decorations in the church as well as the stares of all the guests melted away and paled in comparison to the man waiting for her at the altar. As she reached him, she couldn't quite figure out why her face hurt and realized that it was because she had been smiling so big and during her entire walk down the aisle. She couldn't bring herself to care.

As Oliver smiled back at her, all she could register was that she had never, ever seen a smile that handsome. He actually looked _happy_ ; the smile reached his eyes and she imagined hers did too.

As Mr. Faversham "gave her away", Darcy felt another gripping pang of homesickness. Her father should have been there to give her away. With no siblings of her own, she had been the only child to Mr. and Mrs. Harris and they were extremely close. They had always been supportive of her and, after the initial shock, were delighted to find out that their cherished baby girl was a witch. Darcy forced her mind back to the ceremony and the man before her as the minister began his speech.

Throughout, Darcy and Oliver had spoken their vows and played their part well. Darcy had a new ring to add to the finger that already housed her engagement ring and she was also going to have a new last name. At least until she got back home to Hogwarts. And then came the part Darcy had been anticipating and fearing as she heard the minister speak.

"You may now kiss your bride."

Darcy stood as one shell-shocked in front of her new husband. Oliver stood likewise before her. He had not even factored this into his wedding obligations. _Of course_ he had to kiss her! _It was much too easy to just say "I do" and be done with it!_ Oliver thought sarcastically.

His eyes darted down to her inviting lips. Maybe he could close his eyes and pretend he was kissing someone else. He was shocked to realize he didn't want to be kissing someone else. As he hesitated, Darcy had snapped out of her shocked expression and had started worrying that Oliver might just run away. Why was he waiting so long?

"Kiss me already," Darcy hissed so that only Oliver heard her, trying not to move her lips. She was _so_ ready for this. He really had gorgeous lips. Oliver still wasn't moving. She flicked her eyes upward in a show of mild annoyance and decided to take matters into her own hands.

She quickly closed the distance between them. It was a sweet and chaste kiss that lasted only a short moment but Darcy noted with satisfaction that his lips felt just as lovely as they looked. She pulled away to find that she was smiling. Oliver had his eyes closed for a moment longer than his bride with eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Wood," the minister announced to cheers from guests that neither of them knew.

Darcy bristled as Oliver distractedly offered her his arm as they walked down the aisle to get back to the reception at the townhouse. Not only was Darcy Harris now Darcy Wood, she had apparently lost her first name too and was now only to be known as Mrs. Oliver Wood! How demeaning!

At the reception - an incredibly dull affair to both the bride and groom - they were congratulated over and over again by strangers that they had to feed at the Harris family's expense. They cut the cake and Darcy had to resist the strong impulse to shove some in Oliver's face. Darcy saw Oliver's fingers twitch and she shared a look and a smirk with him confirming he had been thinking the same thing.

Forcing down a few bites of the traditional and revolting fruit cake that was their wedding cake, Darcy and Oliver left to change for their honeymoon as soon as was acceptable. Rebecca, Darcy's maid of honour, helped her change quickly as was the custom and offered her congratulations.

"Oh I hope you have a wonderful honeymoon Miss Har –" Rebecca quickly caught herself, "I mean Mrs. Wood."

"Thank you. I'm sure we will," Darcy said, hoping it was true. "And I hope to be hearing a happy announcement from you and Mr. Woodhouse sometime in the near future," she added coyly.

The looks between the two of them had been too marked to be mistaken for anything other than love and admiration.

Rebecca blushed and smiled shyly. She escorted Darcy as Mr. Woodhouse did the same to Oliver as they entered a fine open carriage decorated with white roses and ivy as they were being pelted with rice and, oddly enough, silk slippers.

"What the –?" Oliver started as a slipper landed in his lap. He looked to Darcy for an answer.

"Don't look at me, I have no idea what that's about! I study serial killers, not wedding traditions," she chuckled.

Just before the carriage started into motion, Darcy threw her bouquet, aiming for Miss Rebecca Ashmore. Her aim was true and Rebecca caught the bouquet with a pretty blush and a glance at Mr. Woodhouse.

As the carriage moved away from the townhouse, Darcy leant back in the seat next to Oliver with a weary sigh.

"Thank Merlin that's done with!" she exhaled, "I'm so bloody tired."

Oliver simply nodded tiredly.

"So where are we going and when do we get there?" Darcy asked. She had badgered Oliver about where they would be going but he refused to answer her. He had actually been the one to arrange the whole thing which Darcy found to be extremely endearing.

"Well, settle yourself in because we've got about fourteen hours of carriage riding to endure," Oliver looked over at her with a shrug. Darcy gaped at him.

"What, are we going to Australia?" she replied, sarcasm evident in her tone.

"Well if I had it my way, we'd be there in under an hour by broom," Oliver told her matter-of-factly but quietly so as not to be overheard by the driver.

Oliver watched as Darcy's head fell back onto the seat. A few hours into the ride, he smiled to himself as she started to softly snore. He wasn't sure exactly how he felt at that moment. He was sorry to have mucked up the kiss. Looking at her now, he wanted to kiss her very badly.

He randomly thought of all the seventh year girls of Hogwarts and could think of none he would rather be spending time with. He found this extremely odd. He thought of leaning over to kiss her forehead but thought better of it, fearing she would feel it and be angry at him. Instead, he rested his hand on the seat next to hers and covered her smallest finger with his own.

Darcy awoke to a particularly rough jostle of the carriage. Apparently she had fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to see that the sun was already making it's decent towards the western horizon. She then realized how dark it was as she registered the now covered roof of the carriage.

"Finally awake, are you?" Oliver asked, throwing her a casual glance.

"Yes. When did this carriage get a roof?" Darcy inquired.

"Shortly after you fell asleep. It's pretty cold out and the driver got the crazy idea that we might want some privacy," the Gryffindor rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because it's so romantic in here," Darcy's last word was punctuated by another violent jostle from a rut in the road. She rolled her eyes. "Travelling by carriage sucks," she sulked.

"Well, we should be almost there," Oliver peered out of the small window.

They fell into a comfortable silence as the carriage bounced along the deserted countryside. Darcy had a feeling that she had been there before and her curiosity about their destination began to grow again as she noted they were in an empty field for miles around.

"Hey, I think I see it!" Oliver exclaimed, nudging Darcy and nodding his head towards a speck of a house in the distance. Before Darcy could get any sort of good look, the carriage came to an abrupt halt in the middle of nowhere. The driver stepped down and opened the door to the carriage. He seemed a bit confused.

"Sorry to interrupt, My Lord, but the footmen and I have some incredibly pressing engagement in town and we must hurry back. We'll have to leave you off here!"

Darcy just stared at the man. He was dumping them on the side of the road like an old Christmas tree?! She should fire the man!

"Um... Alright then?" Oliver said with a question in his voice. "I guess we should get out," he told Darcy looking confused, getting out and then politely holding out his hand to help her out. Silently fuming, Darcy took the offered hand and clambered out of the carriage.

Turning to the driver she asked "Give me one good reason why I should not dismiss you."

The man gulped but just replied, "Terribly sorry My Lady but it cannot be helped."

He jumped back in his driver's seat and the footman jumped on the back as the whip cracked and the horses took off quickly. Darcy and Oliver stood dumbstruck and then noticed that the footman had put their numerous trunks on the side of the road. The newlyweds looked at each other, extremely perplexed.

"What the hell was that?" Oliver asked.

"I have no idea," Darcy murmured. "Well, we'd best start walking I suppose."

She turned to grab some of their luggage – no doubt they'd need to make multiple trips – but when she looked back at where their luggage should be there was nothing there but a patch of crushed weeds as if the trunks had been there just seconds ago. The trunks _had_ been there seconds ago! Darcy had seen them!

"Wood, where did our trunks go?" Darcy asked, edging closer to Oliver, thoroughly creeped out.

"No idea. What the hell is going on here?" Oliver mused. Darcy looked up at Oliver.

"Should we head towards the house then?" he suggested.

"I guess so," Darcy sighed, "I definitely don't want to spend the night on the moors."

Half way to the house, Oliver offered to give Darcy a piggy-back. She accepted eagerly. Walking in Victorian shoes wasn't the greatest feeling in the world. Apparently, women weren't meant to walk any great distance.

"Oof! I'm not going to say you're heavy but what weighs so much?" Oliver asked, knees almost buckling under the sudden onslaught of weight.

"It's the dress. There's enough fabric hanging off of me to take down a hippogriff. Do you want me to get off?"

"No, it's fine. I can handle it," he grunted.

When they had gotten close enough to see the house clearly, Darcy clambered down and stopped in her tracks. She gaped at the house.

"Wood! It's Belmont House!" Darcy cried in joy, "It's my house!"

Oliver stood stunned. "You _live_ here?"

There was no way she lived in such a mansion! He always suspected she had money but he had no idea she was _loaded_!

She sped up to get to the house faster. "Well, I don't really live here but my family has owned it for generations. We sold it to the British government who runs it now. It was too big for just my parents and me anyway. It's open to the public for tours. Is this where we're staying?"

"Yeah. It was supposed to be a surprise," Oliver mumbled.

"Oh it is! It's a fantastic surprise! I'll bet it looks brand new in there! The last time I've been here everything was old."

Darcy smiled up at Oliver, showing him that she really was happy to spend her time there. Oliver felt a bit better about it.

The house was a grand one. It was made of pale yellow bricks with a dark grey roof. It was only two floors high but seemed to sprawl on forever. A connected glass structure that looked like a greenhouse stood left of the majestic doorway and next to it was a red brick structure.

Darcy caught his line of sight and explained that what he thought was a greenhouse was actually an orangery where the family used to grow oranges and that the red brick structure was a summer kitchen. Oliver had no idea why one would need a different kitchen for the summer.

As they stepped up to the porch surrounded by ornate, white Romanesque pillars that housed the front door they realized they had no key. But then again, they saw that there was no lock on the door. _Did people really just leave their homes unlocked?_ Oliver wondered. He looked to Darcy and she shot him a questioning look, seemingly wondering the same thing.

"There is something really weird going on here," Darcy mumbled.

Oliver cautiously turned the door knob and pulled. The door wouldn't budge. He tried pushing it open instead with the same results. He threw some weight behind it and the door still stayed closed. He backed up and shrugged.

Darcy decided to try it. The handle turned easily and silently and the door swung inwards.

"Are you really that weak?" Darcy joked but with nervous laughter as she slowly crept inside. Oliver bumped into her as she abruptly stopped mid-stride. Her eyes widened and her jaw hung open.

The foyer was pristine and cheery warmth filled the space. The room was ablaze with what seemed like thousands of lit candles. Despite that, Darcy shivered, glad for the solid presence of Oliver behind her. She felt his hands move to her hips and she took comfort from the warmth they gave off. She placed her hands over his to keep them there and moved a little further inside.

Oliver gently kicked the door shut. As they warily made their way through the house, they were astonished to find a lit fireplace in every room. Oliver marvelled at the obvious wealth of the family, suddenly not feeling quite so bad about having put so much on the family's credit in town.

The rooms were elegant and beautiful. Darcy led Oliver through the rooms as if giving a tour. He viewed a very masculine-looking billiards room, a library stuffed to bursting with books on every subject by the looks of it, several sitting rooms that were so opulent it almost hurt the eyes and a room with taxidermy animals (bears and tigers and other feral and exotic types of fauna). The hallways were lined with rich red carpets and every inch of wall was covered in oil paintings. Oliver was more than a little weirded out that they didn't move but he still felt like he was being watched.

 **A/N: I actually calculated how long it would take to get from London to Kent by carriage (if I'm wrong, please correct me) and then an estimate by broom. I even contemplated having Oliver and Darcy stay at an inn but nixed the idea. Not much would have happened anyway. So 14 hours by carriage it was.**


	12. Chapter 12

-12-

Oliver and Darcy made their way to the red-walled dining room. A table that sat at least twelve rested beneath golden chandeliers. What was by far the most surprising was that the table was laden with still-steaming platters of hot food and set for two. Their arrival should have been unexpected.

"Is this for us or..." Darcy trailed off, wondering if someone was already living there.

Or maybe there were squatters with really expensive taste? She had seen no trace of servants despite the fact that the house was very free of dust. She stopped to listen for a long moment. All she heard was the distant heavy ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It was unsettling.

"Well, there's enough food here to feed a herd of hippogriffs. I suppose we could have some," Oliver shrugged, "I'm starving."

As amazing as the food was, they ate in an uneasy silence, expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and accuse them of trespassing. They talked very little and decided to pick out a bedroom to sleep in. After all, their coach had disappeared and it was far too late to go off to look for somewhere else to stay. Besides, the house truly was in the middle of the Kentish countryside, surrounded by miles of vacant rolling downs in every direction.

Full of comforting hot food, they climbed the staircase that hugged the foyer wall and noticed that only one room had a fire going. It also had one large bed. _Oh, hell no!_ Darcy thought though she had to admit that Oliver looked hilarious with the way he surveyed the bed, then looked to her, then looked back at the bed.

"You take this room and I'll take another one. I'll just pile on some blankets. I'm sure I'll be warm enough," Oliver offered. _Ever the gentleman_ , Darcy thought fondly.

Just as he was about to leave the room, Darcy stopped him. "Wood, wait. Look!" she pointed to the end of the bed where their missing trunks sat.

"Okay, something is _very_ wrong here," Darcy whispered. She opened the lid to one of her trunks and found her nightgown along with everything else she had packed. Oliver did the same, still hating the blasted nightshirt he had to wear every night.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there's a rational explanation for everything," Oliver soothed.

It helped ease Darcy's fears just a little. She went to the mantle and took down a brass candle holder and lit the candle with the fire from the grate. She handed it to Oliver.

"To find your way," Darcy explained quietly.

Oliver hesitated a moment then leaned over to briefly kiss her forehead, nodded his thanks for the light and wished her a good night. A combination of the giddiness from the kiss and the eeriness of the house, Darcy didn't know if she'd be able to sleep. She had always loved this house but her gut told her that something was fundamentally wrong. She leaned against the doorframe until she saw what room Oliver was going to occupy: the door across from hers.

She bolted upright in her bed. She had no idea what had woken her. She thought maybe the old grandfather clock had chimed and woke her but just as that thought had occurred, she heard said clock chime one in the morning. The fire in the grate was slowly dying and the embers threw very little light on the room. The shadows in the room seemed to move as Darcy lay back down and hugged an unused pillow close to her.

Her eyes strained against the darkness, trying to see if anything was about to attack her. Her heart beat frantically. She tried to slow her breathing. _Jesus, Darcy, get a grip!_ she scolded herself. Just as she had started nodding off, she heard something scuttle across her hardwood floor. Her eyes went wide again and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She was terrified. It could have been anything from a mouse to a murderer.

After a while, she thought she might have imagined it. Then, with her eyes still wide, she distinctly saw something flit in front of the fire. Just a small shadow really but _something_ was definitely _in her room_. She was not alone.

Without a second thought, Darcy tore off the sheets, reached the door of her room in a single bound, wrenched open the door and tore across the hall to Oliver's bedroom. She yanked open his door, slammed it behind her and threw herself onto his bed landing half on top of the sleeping man.

"Wood! _Wood_!" Darcy shook him hard, "Something's in my room!" she tried with all her might not to scream lest The Thing in her room came after her. It didn't help that the room was black as pitch; the candle next to his bed had gone out.

"What the hell, Harris?!" Oliver was wide awake after she had virtually assaulted him.

"Something's in my room!" she said again as she recounted what she had seen and heard.

She had grabbed his arm in a death grip and refused to let go.

"Are you sure?" Oliver whispered.

"Positive! I swear I didn't dream it!"

Oliver, though he couldn't see her, knew she wasn't lying. She sounded absolutely terrified and like she was trying to hold back sobs. Oliver didn't know how to handle crying females very well but he had seen enough of Fred and Angelina to know that when your girl was upset, you should at least give her a hug. So Oliver pulled Darcy into a hug and rubbed her back in a somewhat awkward manner until he felt her shaking subside. She had her arms locked around him and didn't seem to want to let go in the near future so he just kept holding her.

"I don't care what you say, I'm staying here until the sun comes up," Darcy whispered next to his ear.

"I'll protect you," Oliver assured her, half serious, half joking.

"I don't need protection. I just need someone to use as a shield in case it comes back," she whispered again, sounding a bit more relaxed.

He could hear a bit of a smile in her voice.

"I'll never get to sleep now," she complained.

Despite that statement, barely ten minutes had passed before Darcy had fallen asleep in Oliver's arms. Oliver kept holding her anyways. If anything, she provided warmth in his cold bedroom. And hey, what sort of a husband was he if he didn't spend his wedding night with his new wife? He allowed his fingers to run through her loose red hair, marvelling at the silky feel as he idly wondered what on Earth was sharing Darcy's bedroom. Darcy let out a contented sigh curled up next to Oliver and he just couldn't help himself: he placed a kiss on her temple and settled in to keep sentinel over her.

Early the next morning with the day's first pale rays of sunshine starting to filter through the drapes, Darcy cracked open her eyes. She felt marvellously warm. She groggily noticed she was wrapped up snugly in the arms of Oliver Wood and she didn't mind one bit.

It did take her a minute to remember why she was in his room. She sure as hell didn't sleep with him. She would have remembered _that_. She thought of The Thing that was in her room last night only now, in the light of day, she felt incredibly stupid. She _must_ have imagined it.

Darcy looked up to see Oliver already awake and staring fixedly at the door. He must have noticed her gazed because he looked down at her with a tired smile.

"Sleep well?" he asked her.

"Exceptionally," she told him truthfully. She never slept that well unless she was home for Christmas or summer holidays, "You?"

He looked at her strangely. "I didn't sleep," he informed her, as if she must have known why.

"What? Why?" Darcy wondered if this old creaking house had kept him awake. "I hope I don't kick in my sleep."

"You don't," Oliver smiled, "I was making sure the creature in your room didn't come back to get you," he told her, returning his gaze to the door.

"You were awake _all night_?" Darcy gaped. Oliver just shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

"Good God, Wood. You really shouldn't have done that for me. It's still early. Get some sleep!" Darcy exclaimed.

That was incredibly sweet of him but she couldn't believe he watched over her to the detriment of his own sleep. Oliver nodded and closed his eyes with a sigh. Almost immediately she listened to Oliver's breathing as she lay awake, still in his arms. She gazed up at his face softly illuminated by the early morning light, thinking of how incredibly handsome and also how unbelievably kind he was. He would make some girl extremely happy some day. Hell, he had made _her_ happy without even trying.

"Stop staring at me," Oliver suddenly mumbled with his eyes closed.

Darcy's eyes widened in surprise. At least he didn't sound angry. He actually seemed slightly amused.

"I- I'm not staring at you," Darcy weakly replied, wincing at how she stumbled over her words.

"I can see you, you know," he told her quietly with his eyes still seemingly closed.

Darcy peered a bit closer and could see a glint of his eye: it was almost imperceptibly cracked open. Darcy huffed and caught the slight upward curve of Oliver's lips before tucking her head against his shoulder.

Despite how relaxed she was, she couldn't get in a few more hours of sleep. She thought of all the things Oliver had done for her since they'd arrived in London. He had bought her an engagement ring when she hadn't expected anything at all, he had carried her home after the too-tight corset fiasco, he had offered to help with the wedding (although she had refused), he had organized the entire honeymoon and he had stayed awake to make sure she was safe from the probably imagined creature from last night.

And what had she ever done for him? She couldn't think of a single thing. She felt like a horrible and selfish person. She shuddered to imagine what an _intentional_ guilt trip on his part would be like. She resolved to do something nice for him; she just didn't know what yet.

It hit her with the force of what she imagined _Avada Kadavra_ felt like. She was falling for Oliver Wood. Not only did she find him gloriously attractive, but his character was just as beautiful. She wanted to be held by him every night. She wanted to wake up to him every morning. She wanted to eat all her meals with him, to tease him and be teased in turn. She wanted his friends to be her friends and by all that was holy, she wanted him to kiss her properly. Truth be told, she wanted him to snog her senseless. While she had kissed him at their wedding, that didn't count. It had had no feeling behind it. She wanted all of him in his Quidditch crazed glory.

Then she sighed, remembering Oliver Wood's indifference towards her. She recalled the night he had called her his friend and while it was better than hatred, it left a lot to be desired. He really had no reason to like her at all. She was a coward, she was spoilt, and she was obnoxiously vain. She didn't deserve him but by Merlin, she was going to try. Darcy decided to just enjoy the moment, cuddled in his arms, breathing in his intoxicating scent, and start fresh when they both woke up.

A few hours later, Oliver had woken up and stretched luxuriously, effectively disengaging himself from Darcy.

"Merlin, did I sleep!" he exclaimed.

He looked down at his chest to see that Darcy had placed her hand there. It was a strangely intimate gesture – though not entirely uncomfortable, her hand was pleasantly warm – he frowned and chose to ignore the feeling. Instead, he focused on revelling in the warmth under the feather duvet.

"You awake, Darcy?"

Darcy had still been thinking about how wonderful Oliver Wood was.

"Mmmm, I'm awake," she mumbled, "You're calling me by my first name," she observed neutrally.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I am. Is that a problem?"

Darcy couldn't see his face but she could feel the discomfort in his voice. Oliver didn't even realize he had said it. It had just slipped out in the morning fog he always experienced when waking up.

"Not at all. I quite like it actually. The way you roll the 'r' in Darcy," Darcy smiled and Oliver heard it in her voice. It pleased him. "Though I'm so used to Harris. Maybe you can call me Darcy for special occasions," she paused. "Would you like me to call you Oliver?" Darcy asked timidly.

Oliver thought about it for a moment. He was so used to her barking "Wood!" at him; it would no doubt sound incredibly strange to hear her say his given name. "I guess we could try it out," he said.

"Oliver it is, then," Darcy agreed. A comfortable silence ensued.

"So...about that thing in your room..." Oliver started. Darcy sighed.

"I'm sorry. I feel really stupid about that, it was probably just a stupid, vivid dream."

"Harris, you were terrified! I really don't think you made it up," Oliver moved to get out of bed.

"No! Why are you moving? It's so cold in this bloody house!" Darcy whined.

Oliver raised his eyebrows.

"I really never took you for a whiner," he told her.

"I'm a Slytherin, of course I whine," Darcy looked at him with a 'duh' expression.

"Well you're not a Slytherin here. You're just Darcy Harris, and Darcy Harris is going to get out of bed," he said, trying to pull her out of bed.

"You are so annoying," Darcy smiled despite herself, still struggling to stay in bed by grasping the brass headboard.

Oliver released his grip on her arm and moved to grab her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the room where she had started out last night. Darcy squealed and flailed her limbs trying to get him to release her, to no avail.

"This is not dignified! Put me down you bloody highland barbarian!" Darcy laughed even with the blood rushing to her head uncomfortably.

She felt the heat of his hand when it made contact with her bare calf as a pleasant shiver ran through her at the touch. She thanked the powers that be that the charm she had used to strip the hair off her legs had lasted as long as it had. She doubted Victorian ladies shaved their legs.

"Don't be such a child," Oliver said flippantly.

He got to Darcy's room and set her feet down on the gleaming, and cold, hardwood floor allowing his hand to slide up Darcy's leg as far as he dared. By Merlin, her skin felt like silk!

"You carrying me was _so_ unnecessary," Darcy crossed her arms and sat down on her bed only to jump up again when she noticed it was now made-up.

"What the hell?" Darcy asked no one in particular.

"Do you think this house is magical?" Oliver asked.

"Well, normally I'd say so but the pictures don't move and I always assumed my ancestors to be Muggles," Darcy shrugged.

Oliver seemed to be puzzled by something he saw behind her. She followed his line of sight and saw nothing out of the ordinary. She frowned.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, still scanning for something odd.

"What is that?" Oliver walked over to the tasseled rope near the bed.

"It's a bell-pull. You know, to call servants. There's one in all the rooms back in London," she explained.

"Why would we have a bell-pull if there're no servants here?" Oliver asked, looking at Darcy with a curious expression.

He had a point. She walked towards him and watched as he pulled it. Almost immediately, a loud crack was heard and a small creature appeared in front of her.

Darcy shrieked and roughly pulled Oliver in front of her.

"Merlin, you really weren't kidding when you said you'd use me as a shield," Oliver laughed.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Darcy asked shrilly, "There's a...a... _thing_ in my room!"

She peered around Oliver's broad back at the tiny creature with huge ears and big round eyes. It seemed to be wearing a dirty pillowcase. When it saw she was staring at it, it _curtseyed_! _I guess it's a girl_ , Darcy thought. Darcy gaped and released the fistfuls of Oliver's dressing gown that she hadn't realized she was gripping with white knuckles.

Oliver laughed. "Darcy, this _thing_ is a house elf," he explained gently and pulled her forward.

"Um...hello?" it came out as a question when she greeted the house elf.

"Hello! Can Sooly get anything for you, Missus?" it squeaked.

"Uh...Maybe a glass of water? Please?" she asked, still stunned.

"Right aways, Missus!" Sooly squeaked again and departed with a loud crack. Two seconds later Sooly reappeared with a cool glass of water and handed it to Darcy.

"Thank you," Darcy whispered.

Sooly looked thrilled at having received approval from her mistress and asked if anything else was needed.

"I think that's all, Sooly. Thanks," Oliver said. Sooly smiled a toothy grin that dominated her face and left with one last crack.

Darcy sank onto the end of the bed silently sipping her water.

"Well, everything makes so much more sense now!" Oliver remarked, flopping down beside her on the bed.

He started ticking off the recent magical events on his fingers, "There must have been a Confundus Charm on the drivers of the coach, the disappearance and the reappearance of our luggage, the door only opening for a Harris, the food always being ready..." he trailed off.

"Have you _really_ never seen a house elf before?" he asked, seeming amused.

Darcy shook her head. "I've only ever heard of them from the richer families in Slytherin. I never thought I'd see one."

"They pretty much run Hogwarts, did you know?" he nudged her shoulder and she looked at him.

"I didn't know that," Darcy admitted.

"Fred and George took me to the kitchens when I was in fifth year. The place is just milling with them," Oliver reminisced.

"I've never been to the kitchens," she confessed. Oliver gaped at her.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Where is it?"

"It's near Hufflepuff's Common Room. There's a bowl of fruit and you tickle the pear."

Darcy looked at him incredulously. "You tickle a pear?" she asked in a tone saying "you-must-be-joking".

"I'm serious! Like this," he reached his hand out to tickle Darcy's ribs. She giggled and swatted his hand. "And then the pear giggles just like that, only not as cute."

Darcy rolled her eyes bashfully at him and set her gaze on the comforter.

"I like them. The Weasley twins," Darcy told Oliver suddenly, "I don't think I've ever said five words to them but they're funny, apart from that god-awful Howler they sent me once," she said in response to Oliver's surprised face. "I have feelings, did you know?" she echoed Oliver's words.

Oliver just gazed at her lovely smile. She offered him some water which he took absent-mindedly, sipping some. Handing it back to Darcy, he nearly dropped it when he heard a loud sigh.

Darcy's head darted around, looking for the source of the sound. She then saw movement from the painted oval portrait of a woman pictured from the shoulders up. She wore an incredibly uncomfortable looking box-like headpiece and pearl necklace with a pendant of the letter B.

"'Tis about time," she said, giving a pointed look to Oliver and Darcy. "My eyes were beginning to water from being open thus long."

"Sorry?" Oliver offered. He felt much better knowing that this house was, indeed, magical. He was on more familiar territory now.

"It is no matter now that we may move. We were all quite worried you were only Muggles and we would not be allowed to move about for quite some time. You had both best be dressed soon for the morning meal," she advised.

"Right, then," Oliver said, heading for his trunk. He stopped to look towards Darcy. "Will you be needing help to get dressed?" he winked.

"No. I packed accordingly," she grinned.

Bending over her open trunk she rummaged around until she pulled some rumpled grey garments out.

"Here!" she thrust Oliver's Hogwarts uniform towards him, disentangling the sleeve of her white button-up shirt from his grey sweater.

Oliver grasped the blessedly familiar cloth. He felt so indescribably happy to have some normal clothing again.

"Harris, I could kiss you!" he exclaimed as he ran from the room, presumably to put on his new (or were they old?) clothes.

"You can't kiss me from another room!" Darcy called after him. She huffed.

"Men," she muttered at the same time as the painting. Darcy looked to the painting and they shared a smile.

"Were men the same in your time too?" Darcy asked the painted lady as she began changing into her shirt and skirt behind her dressing screen. Changing in front of a painting would feel awfully awkward.

"Men were ever so. It saddens me to see that they have not changed over the centuries," she heard the lady say.

Peeking her head out from behind the screen Darcy introduced herself. "I'm Darcy Harris, by the way. Well, more like Darcy Wood now. I married that bloke," she nodded her head to the door where Oliver had run out like a madman.

"Anne Boleyn."

Darcy gaped, wide eyed. Dear God, she was talking to Henry the Eight's first wife. And here she was sharing how annoying men were. The irony was palpable.

"I'm not sure if this is rude of me to ask, but you are aware of what happened to you, right?" Darcy placed a hand on her neck.

"I am," she nodded solemnly.

"Were you a witch?" Darcy couldn't help but ask.

She wasn't exactly sure how magical paintings worked; if you needed to be a magical person to be immortal on canvas.

Anne smiled. "Most people believed that. They said that I had bewitched the king. Henry certainly thought so," she fell silent, as if reminiscing.

Darcy shifted her weight, not sure if she should say something.

"I was a witch," Anne finished.

"Wouldn't you have been able to save yourself?" Darcy asked.

"Had I been burned at the stake like Thomas Moore, then yes I could have. Henry chose to have me beheaded instead. There was not much I could do then in front of the people," she raised a hand to her slender neck. Darcy winced. "But it is no matter. Your husband seems to be far kinder than my own. I hope he is not demanding a son from you."

Darcy felt her face grow warm with the implications of giving Oliver a child. That would be moving things insanely fast.

"I can see that you love him," Anne stated, smiling slightly.

 _Whoa, I only just realized I fancy him! I don't love the man! Do I?_ Darcy asked herself.

"Love is an awfully strong word," Darcy chuckled.

 _Awfully strong and that's what I'm feeling, God help me,_ Darcy realized.

 **A/N: Poor Anne Boleyn. I once read a historical fiction novel that says she was accused of sorcery so her portrait seemed to fit here.**

 **Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

-13-

The first few days passed in the normal routine for Oliver and Darcy. Their honeymoon was to last a month's time after which they would return to their London townhouse. The couple had to admit they were immensely enjoying their time spent without having to worry about social conventions and the constant interruptions from the Favershams. Darcy often smirked at imagining the aneurism Mrs. Faversham would have if she saw the short Hogwarts skirt Darcy had been wearing.

Oliver had thought to try his wand but still it failed him. By now neither of them expected it to yield any results. They agreed to search out magical folk upon their return to London, most likely starting at the Leaky Cauldron, providing it already existed.

The house now seemed much more welcoming to Oliver and Darcy now that paintings held conversations with them. However, they soon learnt to give the room with Lord Harris' stuffed animals a wide berth. As soon as one entered the bear would give a mighty roar loud enough to rattle the windows and swipe its clawed paws at anyone near it. The rest of the stuffed animals would act likewise. Only Oliver's quick reflexes saved him from near decapitation.

On the fourth day spent inside the house, Darcy opted to take a walk around the grounds before the weather got too cold. A beautiful cloudless sky greeted her as she walked the gardens and no chilly breeze was to be found. She strayed a little farther from the garden, looking for the cricket pitch she had seen as a child on visits to the house.

As she neared the area where the pitch should be, a glint of gold caught her eye. Moving closer, her eyes widened when she realized that the gold she had seen came from one of three gold hoops of differing heights. Her jaw dropped as she continued on to find the greenest pitch she had ever seen and the other three hoops at the far end. A Quidditch pitch! Either this was an entirely different pitch than the cricket grounds or someone had put an Invisibility Charm on it! Darcy was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. She had finally found something she could do for Oliver.

She fairly ran back to the house and started rooting around cupboards for flying broomsticks and a crate of Quidditch balls. They had to be there somewhere. Unfortunately, this was a huge house and it had innumerable cupboards. At least she knew that they were contained in the house since no shed had been seen near the pitch. She wished she were able to use magic and use a Summoning Charm. Instead, she summoned a house elf. This one seemed to be male and Darcy asked him where she could find what she was looking for.

"Follow me, Missus!" the elf squeaked and took off down the hall to a concealed closet next to the library.

"What've you been up to Harris?" Oliver asked, leaning back in his chair in the library to peer at her through the doorway.

Darcy just shot him a smirk in reply and closed the closet discreetly. She had found all she needed. She asked the house elf in a whisper if he could have the brooms and crate brought down to the pitch immediately. She slinked into the library.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. "If ever there existed an expression for 'up to something' you've got it written all over your face," he remarked.

"Me? Up to something? Nonsense!" she held the smirk on her face and sat down on the arm of his chair, trying to see what he was reading.

"I'll have none of your cheek!" he pretended to be stern but Darcy could tell he was trying to hold back a grin. "After almost seven years of sharing hallways and classes with Slytherins, I'd say I'm a pretty good judge of when they're up to no good. Which is always."

Oliver could feel the chair he was sitting in vibrate as her leg bounced with nervous energy. He closed his book and set it on the small table next to him and stood to face Darcy.

"Out with it!" he demanded and stared her down, grinning.

Oliver had never seen her look so excited. Well, maybe that first day when she had discovered she was in Victorian London, but it was a close call.

"Close your eyes," Darcy commanded with the air of superiority she hadn't used with him for quite some time. She stood to face him with her full height.

He was even more suspicious now. "Why?" he challenged.

"Because I'm trying to surprise you!" she rolled her eyes, "I thought it would have been obvious but I suppose there's a reason you're not in Ravenclaw," she grinned.

"I think I've just been insulted," Oliver mused to no one in particular.

"Don't think too hard, you might hurt yourself," Darcy said.

"You're hilarious Harris, really," Oliver said sarcastically.

"Just shut up and close your eyes!" Darcy laughed, her foot tapping the floor.

He gave a long, mock weary sigh and did as he was told. Darcy stood before him, waved her hands in front of his eyes to make sure he wasn't peeking and took hold of his hands. Oliver had never felt hands as soft as hers before. He found it odd. Didn't she play Quidditch? Shouldn't her hands have at least one callus? _She must use some kind of charm to erase them_ , he thought.

He felt her lead him out the door as the scent of grass met him. He breathed it in deep and a painful pang of homesickness hit him. All he had smelt for weeks had been dirty city air.

"Harris, if you're leading me to my death, I swear I will come back to haunt you," he uttered good-naturedly.

 _Does he realize he's rubbing his thumbs on the back of my hands?_ Darcy wondered. She didn't know but allowed him to keep doing it. It felt wonderful.

"Ha! We both know you'd only come back as a ghost to bask in my company," she stated matter-of-factly.

She caught the smile that Oliver was wearing. She really wanted to kiss him then. Well, she wanted to kiss him pretty much all the time but now was not appropriate. She was on a mission. Operation: Do Something Good For Someone Other Than Yourself. She was still working on a better name for it.

Finally, Oliver felt Darcy stop and he just stood on the spot, suddenly feeling very exposed when his guide dropped his hands. Darcy circled behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, stood on tip-toe and whispered right next to his ear, "Okay. Open your eyes."

He did as he was told and never in his life had he seen a more welcome sight. He almost dropped to his knees from the shock of standing in the middle of an immaculately groomed Quidditch pitch. The golden hoops gleaming in the noonday sun, the bright green fields manicured to perfection, the sky a perfect azure and Darcy smiling up at him with her red hair blowing lightly in the breeze. Between the woman and the pitch, he couldn't decide which was the most beautiful.

"You know, this land technically belongs to me, or at least my family," Darcy stated, "And I've decided to give it to you. Consider it a wedding gift," she smiled.

Oliver was so happy he thought he might cry. He looked at Darcy for a split second before instinct took over and he gathered her in his arms, spun her around and kissed her. Despite Darcy's surprise, she immediately kissed him back. _That_ was the kiss she had been waiting for! It was full of pure happiness, even if it might not have been directed at her.

Oliver's brain finally caught up with him as he realized he was kissing Darcy Harris and surprisingly found that he really didn't mind. In fact, he was rather enjoying himself. He snaked one hand around her back and let the other one run through her hair. He was a little shocked with Darcy's reciprocity but he sure wasn't complaining.

They stood in the middle of the pitch wrapped up in each other before Darcy paused and gasped for air. Oliver kept his eyes closed, still trying to process why kissing Darcy had felt so very _right_ when it should have felt wrong. He didn't even like her in _that_ way.

Darcy leaned her forehead against his shoulder and sighed a content sigh before tilting back her head to look at Oliver's expression. She was disappointed to see him look... well, this side of confused. She mentally shook it off. What did she expect? For him to declare his undying love for her? Ha!

"Wait. You said you're giving this to me?" he asked.

"Yes sir. It is now the Oliver Wood Quidditch pitch," Darcy confirmed.

Oliver shook his head in wonder and by Merlin, he wanted to kiss her again.

"Get back over here, you magnificent woman."

Oliver didn't wait for her to comply. He stepped back in front of her and took her face in his hands and kissed her again. She felt a bit better at this development. At least she knew he wasn't disgusted the first time around. This kiss was even better than the last one and she threaded her fingers into his hair. Far too soon in Darcy's opinion, Oliver pulled away.

"Thank you," he whispered next to her ear. Darcy just hugged him round the middle.

He only then seemed to notice the brooms and crate of balls.

"Do these fly?" Oliver asked Darcy.

"I would assume so, I found them with the crate," Darcy told him.

"Only one way to find out," Oliver mused and stuck his right hand out over the broom and said, "Up!"

The broom flew up to his hand as he laughed and hugged it tight. Darcy imagined him as a four year old with a teddy bear or, more than likely, a toy broom. It was adorable.

"I'm not sure why the pitch never appeared to me back when I visited as a kid. There were always Muggles running around on a tour so maybe that's why. I figure there must be an Invisibility Charm on it," Darcy mused.

"Yeah, must be. The new Quidditch Stadium in Exmoor's got one on it," Oliver confirmed Darcy's theory.

Finally done with hugging the broom, he looked it over. "Harris! This thing must be an antique!"

Darcy laughed. She knew very little about brooms but said, "I'm pretty sure those are top of the line and brand new here in 1888."

"Of course. Surely not as fast as anything back home but if it flies, I'll be the happiest man on Earth."

Darcy watched as he mounted the broom and kicked off. It flew. Oliver did a few laps around the pitch and found that even though the broom was very slow it was still one of the best feelings in the world. He looked down to see that Darcy was just standing there watching him.

"What are you waiting for?" he called, "Aren't you coming to join me?"

"No thanks, I'm fine right here," she called back, kneeling to open the crate containing the Quaffle.

Oliver's brows furrowed. Was she feeling ill? How could she not want to fly? How could _anyone_ not want to fly? She should be pulling out the Snitch and chasing it around. He had wanted to see her fly ever since she had told him how good she was. He circled back and landed, facing her. He was even more confused that she looked nervous.

"You okay?" he asked the witch.

"Me? I'm fine. Why?" she tilted her chin up slightly, a tell-tale sign she was lying.

"You're not fine. Why aren't you flying too? I'd expect you'd be itching to fly again since you're so keen on being a Seeker."

"Here," she tossed him the Quaffle while ignoring the question.

She definitely hadn't thought this 'gift' thing over. She should have known she'd be expected to fly after having told Oliver what felt like ages ago that she was a talented Seeker. She regretted that now. If he saw her fly, he'd probably fall off his broom with laughter.

Oliver walked towards the crate. "I'll release the Snitch," he announced.

"You know what? I don't feel like catching a Snitch. Let's not release it," she pleaded, placing herself between him and the crate.

"What? You're a Seeker. I want to see what you've got," Oliver told her with a competitive glint in his eye.

He side-stepped her to get to the crate.

"Please don't!" Darcy moved to block him again.

Oliver was getting incredibly suspicious. He crossed his arms. "Why?"

Darcy hesitated. She couldn't think of a single good excuse not to fly on such a gorgeous day. She also didn't want to lie to him so she told him the truth.

"If you let the Snitch go, we won't ever find it again. I'm rubbish at Quidditch and my skill on a broom is laughable."

Darcy mentally prepared for Oliver's anger for having lied to him, his laughing at her expense or his contempt. She did not expect him to pick up the second broom and hand it to her.

Darcy frowned. He wanted to laugh at her flying abilities then? She sighed and took the broom all the same.

"Are you waiting to see me make an ass of myself?" Darcy mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

"No, I want to see how well you fly," he responded with an unreadable expression.

Darcy looked at him, leery of his intentions.

"Promise you won't laugh?" she asked him.

"I promise I won't laugh." He sounded sincere.

 _To hell with it,_ Darcy thought, _He won't leave me alone until I do this._ She mounted her broom and kicked off unsteadily, inwardly cringing.

She flew a few laps, managing to fly moderately well. She circled back and hovered before the now airborne Quidditch Captain and waited to hear his laughter and his commentary on how she was a disgrace to the game. Instead, he instructed her to fly beside him and showed her a better positioning for her hands and tips on how to further steady her broom. An hour later, Darcy was flying better. Of course, that's not to say she'd ever be able to make one of the house teams if ever the opportunity to tryout presented itself, but she could see some slight improvement.

Oliver suggested they toss the Quaffle around. Darcy agreed and the Gryffindor swooped down to fetch it. So they just chatted about everything and nothing, passing the Quaffle back and forth between them. Every now and then Oliver would tell her techniques used by his Chasers and some stories about his Quidditch team. All the teammates sounded like wonderful people to Darcy and she realised yet again that she felt lonely when she was at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Oliver veered away to hover in front of the centre hoop in his Keeper position.

"Oh, _hell_ no!" Darcy called.

She was _not_ going to embarrass herself by trying to score on Hogwarts' best Keeper.

"Please?" Oliver pleaded, "I haven't been able to practice since we got here."

Darcy caved immediately. How could she deny him anything? He looked so adorable, all anticipation and happiness. She reluctantly tucked the Quaffle under her arm and flew towards the hoops as fast as her broom would take her which, fortunately for Darcy, was not all that fast.

Most of her shots were stopped or were so off the mark that she ended up calling 'Sorry!' as Oliver sped towards the ground to catch the ones that fell short. But he seemed happy and that made Darcy happy. She was actually able to score a very small number of her shots in no small part due to the slowness of Oliver's broom, the tailwind, Darcy's ability at faking a shot and sometimes by Haversacking. She was nothing if not devious.

"That was Haversacking, Harris!" Oliver accused as they walked back to the house with their brooms slung over their shoulders and the crate of balls between them.

"It was not! I took my hand off the ball before it went in! Every single time," Darcy countered.

"You're such a Slytherin," Oliver grinned.

"Through and through," Darcy confirmed though feeling no pride at the acknowledgement.

They entered the house and put their equipment away. As they had missed lunch and it was getting well into evening, they headed to the kitchen to get some early supper and took it to the library to eat in a cozier environment. The dining room felt a little too austere for their liking.

Their supper finished and their empty plates set aside, the pair talked about Quidditch. Darcy told Oliver about the Quidditch World Cup she had gone to see with some Slytherin housemates back in her fifth year and how the Holyhead Harpies had beaten the odds by obliterating the Falmouth Falcons. They discussed amazing plays that had happened in that game – with Oliver having followed it on the Wireless.

"I'm just saying that Falmouth would have won were it not for Wilson's horrible game. His Keeping was atrocious!" Oliver complained.

"Sure it was. You're just making excuses because you hate the Harpies," Darcy smirked.

"I never said that," Oliver stated.

"Maybe not but you _did_ say that your favorite team is Puddlemere United and their rivals are the Harpies," Darcy pointed out, reclining in her wingback chair in front of the fire. "Ergo, you have to dislike the Harpies, even if it's only in principle."

Oliver mock glared at her. His gaze caught something brassy and horn-shaped in one of the shadowy corners of the room. He got up to inspect it closer. It looked like one of the phonographs that had been used at one of the celebratory parties in Gryffindor Tower after a Quidditch win. He actually knew what this Muggle contraption did!

He looked through the drawers of the table it sat on until he found the cylinders that played the songs. Remembering that his wand didn't work he looked for a way to turn it on. This machine seemed to have a crank so he shrugged and turned it.

"What are you doing?" Darcy peered over the back of her chair to see what he was up to.

Before he could answer the strains of an orchestra were heard. Darcy's eyes met Oliver's and smiles were shared.

"This is fantastic! I haven't heard music since before we left!" Darcy moved around her chair to get closer to the phonograph. She bent towards the player, examining it. Oliver watched with amusement at how fascinated she was by the player all while appreciating the view of her bare legs exposed by the Hogwarts skirt she wore. She would twist this way and that, seemingly trying to decipher how it worked. She glanced up caught him staring at her.

"What?" she asked curiously, "I've never seen these for real. I've only seen these in movies."

At his blank look Darcy mumbled, "It's a Muggle thing," in lieu of explaining what a movie was.

He smiled at her and held out his hand. "Would you care to dance, Miss Harris?"

Darcy took his hand, "Yes, I'd like to dance but I'm warning you, I don't know how."

"Oh, come on. Everyone says that but it's not like I'm asking you to do the tango. You just spin in a circle," Oliver placed his arms around her waist as she placed hers around his neck.

Oliver felt a little awkward at first but they soon settled into a comfortable pace swaying in slow, lazy circles in front of the fireplace. He felt Darcy rest her head on his shoulder and sigh in contentment. He raised his eyebrows at this.

Was Darcy really enjoying this or was she pretending for some unfathomable reason? She did seem to lie for the strangest reasons but what could she possibly have to gain from pretending to be enjoying this situation?

"Harris?"

"Hmm?" she hummed, completely relaxed in his embrace.

"Why did you lie about being a Quidditch player?" he asked gently, not wanting her to get her hackles up. After all, he liked holding her and there was certainly no need for her to get all defensive.

There was a long pause where the only sound to be heard was the soft strings of the orchestra and the crackling fire. Finally, Darcy answered his question.

"Because I wanted to impress you. It obviously didn't work since you found out how rubbish I am at it."

Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. He felt relieved that it wasn't because she didn't respect him or disliked him. Judging by the way she was currently clutching him, not liking him seemed to be highly unlikely. She had moved closer to him and he felt like they were engaged in a very intimate hug.

"You're not rubbish–"

Darcy cut him off with a scoff.

"–Really, you're not! And I wouldn't have thought less of you if you had just told me the truth."

Darcy pulled away just enough to raise her head and meet his eyes.

"Really?" she asked, looking doubtful.

"Really. I would be a horrible Captain if I didn't help my teammates get better."

"But I'm not your teammate. I wouldn't even be good enough to make your team," Darcy pointed out.

"Maybe so, but with more practice, you could be really good. Until then you'd make an excellent distraction to the other teams just by sitting on your broom and looking beautiful," Oliver smiled, warm brown eyes reflecting the firelight.

Cue the hoard of butterflies in Darcy's stomach.

She beamed at him and snuggled her head back to its resting place on Oliver's shoulder.

"Anything else I should know about?" he asked casually.

Darcy thought for a moment. She didn't have many secrets that he didn't already know...except for one: the night she had gone to the Whitechapel district alone. She really did want to tell him the truth but she felt so stupid about all of it. She decided to tell him but she would keep her head exactly where it was: on his shoulder and out of view.

Darcy closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. "I... kind of went to the Whitechapel district alone one night and very nearly got...erm, victimized... by a man there. That was the night and the place that two women were murdered. I think I jumped over one of the dying women trying to get away..." her voice was nearly at a whisper towards the end of her confession.

Oliver stopped their dance and stood stock still for a long while.

"What?" Oliver finally said in a dangerously low tone that would have been incredibly sexy if the situation had been different.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm's length. There was no avoiding his eyes now.

"I'm sorry!" Darcy squeaked, "I had to do something! I knew that women were going to be murdered that night and I thought –"

"How could you have been so bloody _stupid_?" Oliver spoke harshly, pulling away to look at Darcy, "And what do you mean ' _victimized_ '?"

Darcy saw how scary Oliver was when he was really angry. She had _never_ seen him this livid and she felt horrible that she was the cause of it.

"I...almost got raped by a man there but I kneed him in the groin. He came after me but I thankfully ran into William Kensington. He rescued me and brought me home."

Oliver stormed out of the room and back in less than one second, the very definition of enraged. "Darcy, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Oliver raged and Darcy flinched. "And without a wand?! Of all the most dangerous, idiotic things..." he trailed off, still clearly in disbelief that Darcy would have done such a thing.

"I know! I can't even say how sorry I am that I didn't tell you about it! It was the stupidest thing I've ever done," Darcy stated vehemently.

"Damn right it was! Darcy..." Oliver took a deep, steadying breath and shook his head. He stood in front of her and cradled her face gently in his trembling hands, trying to look her straight in the eye.

Her eyes were looking resolutely at the floor to the right of where they stood.

"Look at me Darcy," Oliver ordered gently.

Darcy complied and raised her eyes to meet his.

"I'm not mad at you. I just...if anything ever happened to you..." he shook his head, clearly at a loss for words.

This revelation was what Oliver needed to finally realize that he had, in fact, fallen for Darcy Harris, his former nemesis. He thought of her out in the filthy alleys of Whitechapel, in the hunting grounds of Jack the Ripper; of her being handled by some sorry excuse for a man. The thought made his blood boil. For all her faults, Oliver didn't want to imagine himself without her. He wouldn't be able to bear it if something had happened to her and he hadn't been around to stop it.

"Thank Merlin you're safe here now. Otherwise I'd be lost without you," Oliver spoke with a chuckle of disbelief, never thinking he would say those words in regards to this particular woman.

Darcy continued to stare up at him. As long as all her secrets were being spilled, she threw caution to the wind and decided to bare her soul.

"I have one more thing I need to tell you. I...I fancy you, Oliver Wood. More than you could possibly know. For a long time now, I've considered being stuck in Victorian times with you to be the best thing that's ever happened to me." Darcy bit her lip. "It's ironic. I thought I was in love with this time period while stuck with someone I hated. Now I've found that I'm in a time period I hate with someone I...l-love." There. She said it. She felt herself shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her veins at this admission and the very real possibility – no, _probability_ – of rejection.

"You... _love_ me?" Oliver stood with his mouth slightly open.

He really never thought _anything_ like that would ever pass her lips. Sweet Merlin, her lips...

"I do. I know it's probably the last thing you want to hear but it's the truth and I'm sorry if this is going to make everything awkward between us because I like being around you even though I always feel so undeserving..."

Christ, she was babbling! This was the adrenaline talking, she was sure of it. Just as her thought of _Why isn't he saying something?!_ flitted through her mind, Oliver closed the gap between them and harshly pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was nothing like the others they had shared. This kiss was full of passion and fire.

As shocked as Darcy was, she kissed back with everything she had. Just as he realized he was snogging Darcy, Oliver pushed away and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be feeling right now because you haven't said anything but I'm pretty sure that wasn't rejection," Darcy breathed, feeling slightly dazed.

"Harris, I don't know what you've done to me but I'm completely at your mercy. No woman could ever make me as angry or as happy in the same moment as you."

The genuine smile that Oliver loved lit up Darcy's face. His answer was better than anything she had been hoping for.

"So, you like me?" she asked.

"You really confuse me because you're simultaneously two different people. I really don't like Slytherin Darcy because she's a mean-spirited harpy-"

 _Ouch_. Darcy felt the words like stinging physical blows.

"-but I think I'm in love with Muggle-born Darcy."

And with that, Darcy's pain evaporated as she launched herself at Oliver with renewed vigour.

After a moment of furious snogging, Oliver leaned his forehead against Darcy's.

"I don't like Slytherin Darcy either," Darcy admitted once she had regained her breath, running her hands up Oliver's chest and settling her arms around his neck.

"Promise me you won't go looking for Jack the Ripper again. At least talk to me before you do anything that crazy," Oliver asked while putting his hands on Darcy's waist and stroking her hips with this thumbs.

"I promise," Darcy swore with her eyes closed, savouring the moment. After a quiet pause Darcy suggested, "We should probably head up to bed."

Oliver agreed and headed up the stairs behind Darcy, holding her hand on the way up. Darcy was about to head into the master bedroom again but Oliver tugged her over to his room where she had fled when she had seen the house elf in her room.

Wide-eyed, Darcy stared at Oliver as he closed the door. She might love the man but she was _so_ not ready to sleep with him! Did he expect her to shag him now?

Putting on the false bravado she used when she felt threatened she asked, "If you expect me to have sex with you, you're going to be very disappointed."

Oliver looked surprised at this. "I wasn't expecting anything of the sort!"

"Oh," Darcy now felt incredibly stupid for suggesting it. "Well, I'm glad that's settled then."

She snatched her nightgown that was hanging on the screen where she had left it from the night before and fled behind the screen to change. "No peeking!" she called.

Oliver chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to."

True to his word, Darcy peeked her head out from behind the screen to see his back turned and not even trying to catch a glimpse. She wasn't sure if she should be happy or insulted at this.

"I'm decent," she announced as she proceeded to literally jump into the bed. Oliver took his place behind the screen. "Peek all you want," he winked. Darcy laughed and turned a little pink.

"Oh please. I doubt there would be anything to see," she teased back but she knew there was a set of fabulously sculpted abs hidden under his clothes. The stories told at Hogwarts about his physique were legendary and Darcy knew them to be true the night she had opened the door to his adjoining room. That had been their first night in London. It had been about a month and a half ago but it felt like an eternity.

Emerging from behind the screen he looked at Darcy. "You do realize that nothing has to change between us, right?" he sat down on his side of the bed. "I don't want you to be weird around me."

"I know. Don't worry, I'll still irritate the hell out of you. Though one thing has _definitely_ changed," she hinted.

"Oh? And what would that be," by the way he was grinning, Darcy knew he was thinking exactly what she was thinking. Instead of answering, she grabbed him by the collar of his pyjamas and dragged him over to her side of the bed. The result was a snogging session of epic proportions that lasted well into the night.

 **A/N: Show of hands: who would have snogged Oliver WAY before now? *raises hand***


	14. Chapter 14

-14-

"You know, for someone who was so adamant not to shag, we came pretty close to it last night," Oliver observed beside her in bed the next morning. It was true: there had been plenty of groping and grinding to make the mattress squeak.

"Well I couldn't help it, Wood. You're way too talented. Lord, you don't practice on your broom, do you?" Darcy deadpanned.

Oliver just rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Darcy's head.

"Hey, I thought you were going to call me Oliver? What happened to that?" Oliver propped himself up on one elbow, facing Darcy.

"To be honest, I don't think it'd work. Besides, I doubt you'd actually answer to Oliver if I said it," Darcy told him.

"Oh really? You don't think so?"

Darcy shook her head in the negative. "Nope. Let's try it out, shall we?"

"Oliver, make me breakfast," she ordered with amusement. Oliver quirked an eyebrow but didn't move. Wouldn't the house elves do that?

"Hmm. No response," Darcy observed, "Oliver, conjure me some flowers."

"You know my wand doesn't work," Oliver rolled his eyes.

"And now, let's try your last name out, shall we?" Darcy continued. "Wood, run you're your fingers through my hair."

Oliver complied, deliciously slowly, making Darcy shiver.

Darcy's voice was a whisper as she ordered, "Wood, kiss me."

Oliver moved in slowly and planted a lingering kiss on Darcy's lips, cradling the back of her head with his free hand.

"Mmm. See? Calling you Wood works _much_ better," Darcy smirked when he pulled away.

"Well, I suppose I can't argue with your reasoning," Oliver leaned in to kiss her again to which Darcy smiled innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"Just so we're clear, what do I call you? Darcy or Harris?"

"Keep kissing me like that and you can call me anything you want," Darcy waggled her eyebrows.

The morning passed by uneventfully apart from the torrential rain pounding down from the heavens. Figuring they had wasted enough time, Darcy and Oliver canvassed the paintings of the house to see if they knew why their magic wasn't working.

Anne Boleyn didn't have an answer for them. Oliver tried asking a painting of bathing nymphs but they all screamed and ran away. Darcy had tried asking another portrait of a large and stately raven but it kept repeating "Nevermore." Darcy shouted abuse at it until Oliver dragged her away.

After lunch, Oliver had moved a couch so that it looked out on the rain soaked yard of the estate. The Quidditch captain was lounging with his feet on Darcy's lap as he idly twirled his wand between his fingers. Darcy absentmindedly massaged his feet while staring out at the rain. She had taken off her engagement ring as the stone stuck out and would probably really hurt if it scraped against skin. Lord knew how many times she had broken her own skin after accidentally brushing against it. She placed the cherished ring on the windowsill in front of the couch.

"Why are you rubbing my feet?" Oliver asked.

Darcy immediately stopped.

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

"No, no. It feels fantastic but I was wondering if you had any ulterior motives," he clarified.

Affronted, Darcy replied, "What? I can't rub your feet just to be nice? I don't want anything in return. But, if you're really thankful, you could always repay me back in our bedroom," Darcy suggested with a mischievous smirk on her lovely lips.

She trailed a hand up his leg and got as far as his upper thigh until he stopped the progress of her hand with his own.

"Evil temptress," he growled. Darcy put on her best innocent face. "I don't like how realistic you make that innocent expression look," Oliver mumbled.

"I know. It's a talent," Darcy shrugged and continued to rub her man's feet.

Silence ensued with only the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock and the driving rain to break the quiet.

"What day is it?" Oliver asked.

After thinking a moment, Darcy shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't read a newspaper since we got here, what with all the newly wedded bliss and all that."

Darcy counted the days they'd been there. "It's October 30th by my count."

"Well if it _is_ the 30th then yesterday was my birthday!" Oliver smiled.

"Really? Happy belated birthday! Finally 18, are you?"

Just then, after a rather overzealous twirl of his wand, Oliver blasted a hole in the wood panelled wall just beyond Darcy's head.

"Christ! I only wished you a happy birthday, you don't have to try to … kill… me."

The words died on her lips when she looked at Oliver's wand with wide eyes and then to his equally shocked face.

"You just did magic," Darcy breathed. " _You just did_ _magic_! Quick! Do something else!"

She pushed Oliver's feet off her lap as they both jumped up. Oliver muttered _Wingardium Leviosa_ and the vase on the side table levitated into the air.

Darcy's nearly screamed with joy and tackled Oliver into a hug. Oliver's concentration broke as did the vase that dropped to the floor.

"That was probably really expensive," Oliver cringed.

"Probably, but who cares! Wood, we might be able to get back!" Darcy attacked his face with kisses.

"Wait. I just turned 17, not 18," Oliver told Darcy. "How old are you, Harris?"

"16. My birthday is November 9th. Why?"

"Merlin! That must be why we couldn't use magic! We weren't of age yet! I just turned 17 yesterday and now I can use it! That can't be a coincidence!"

"Maybe now we can go home!" Darcy wailed with joy.

"But I thought you loved it here!" Oliver was sure Darcy had been having the time of her life.

"Are you kidding? I hate it here! I told you so when I told you I loved you!" Darcy reminded him.

Had she really? He thought back to what seemed like a long time ago despite it being only last night. Everything was happening so fast!

"I said that I'm in a time I _hate_ with a person I _love_. Nice to see you were paying attention," Darcy rolled her eyes. "I used to dream about this lifestyle when I read about it in books but living here is so not worth the trouble! I have to wear corsets and a bustle, for one thing! And let me tell you, they are the work of the devil.

"When I married you I lost my identity. I became Mrs. Oliver Wood; as if I had no first name anymore. I have to change the way I talk, I can't do as I please whenever I please and I have to follow all kinds of stupid rules of etiquette.

"I miss Hogwarts. I miss classes, pumpkin juice, the feasts and being with people our own age. I really, _really_ miss Quidditch! I can't even imagine how you must feel about it. I don't want to be here anymore," Darcy finished, heaving a sigh and hugging Oliver as he rubbed her back.

At that very moment, the front door opened and the voice of a man and a woman ghosted over to Oliver and Darcy as they froze in place and their jaws dropped.

Lord and Lady Harris had come home.

Darcy's wide eyes met Oliver's. A wave of sheer terror went through them. Darcy knew that Lord and Lady Harris weren't going to be absent from England forever but she was hoping she and Oliver could have figured out a way to get home before her forebears were any the wiser. Apparently, this plan was too good to be true.

Darcy crept quickly through the house ignoring Oliver's hissed protest and peered through the doorway that led into the main foyer. The regal couple were indeed the Harris'. They looked exactly like the paintings in her room in London. She sped back to the library where Oliver waited for her.

The pair now had to choose between two viable options: confront the elder Harris' or get the hell out of their borrowed house.

"It's my great-great-grandparents. What do we do?" Darcy whispered in panic. "Do you think they can help us? They're obviously capable of magic."

Oliver looked torn. "They could probably help but you're _really_ not supposed to interact with family," he whispered back, "We have no idea how they'd react if they were to encounter their future relatives."

"You're right. I think we should get out of here." The voices were getting closer to the room they occupied.

"Sooly!" a gruff voice bellowed.

Obviously Lord Harris was in a bad mood. A loud crack sounded as Sooly likely appeared before her legitimate master.

"Yes Master, what can Sooly get you?" the house elf squeaked.

"I shouldn't have to call you when I enter my own house!" Lord Harris was definitely angry.

Oliver really hoped Sooly wouldn't mention them.

"Sooly is sorry, Master! Sooly was ge –" Sooly never finished her sentence.

Darcy and Oliver heard something that sounded like a curse followed by a bang and then the distinctive whimper of a house elf.

Darcy stifled a horrified gasp. Her great-great-grandfather had just harmed the sweet little house elf just because she hadn't appeared immediately at his entrance to the house? Her ancestor was such a bloody jerk! If she had any doubts about leaving the house, they were now completely gone.

"I'll go and get the trunks upstairs. You should get out of the house. _Impervius_ ," he muttered the charm to shield them both from the driving rain outside.

Oliver hadn't yet learnt how to Apparate so they would have to escape on foot. Darcy nodded her comprehension. Oliver bounded silently up the stairs to their rooms.

Still downstairs, Darcy had run to the back door only to remember her engagement ring on the windowsill of the library. She had her hand on the doorknob of the back door and was torn between returning for it or just getting out of the house. She remembered when Oliver had given it to her on the night they had returned from buying a whole new wardrobe. It was the first time she had hugged him.

She had gotten so used to the ring that her hand felt uncomfortable without it. She bit her lip. If she ran like the devil was after her she could probably get it and get out before Lord or Lady Harris spotted her. Releasing the doorknob, Darcy ran back into the room to get her ring.

Meanwhile, Oliver had charmed the trunks to fit into his pants pocket and headed down the stairs and out the door as fast and as quiet as his legs could carry him. Once outside, he scanned the landscape for Darcy. She was nowhere to be seen. Had she run off without him? A month ago he was sure she would have, but now? He knew she wouldn't take off on her own.

As his eyes swept over the grounds a second time he caught some movement in the library where he and Darcy had been just seconds before, except Darcy was still inside. Oliver had no idea what she was still doing there. Something must have gone wrong.

"Come on, Harris. Get out of there," Oliver urged under his breath through clenched teeth.

The Gryffindor saw Darcy snatch something from the windowsill and immediately freeze: she had heard the Harris' entrance to the library. He looked beyond her and saw Lord and Lady Harris enter the room. Oliver was only inches away from her but separated by a pane of glass. Darcy looked up from the windowsill and saw Oliver near the window frame and out of view of the rightful owners of the house. For a moment their eyes met and Darcy looked terrified. Then Oliver witnessed a change come over her. She stood up straight and slowly turned around to face her forebears. Oliver's face adopted a look of fear when he saw Lord and Lady Harris point their wands at Darcy.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house," Lady Harris spoke for the first time in a disturbingly cold voice levelling her wand at Darcy's chest.

Darcy took a deep breath, clearing her face of all emotion even though her heart hammered in her chest as she had locked eyes with Oliver. She stood up pocketing her ring, turned and looked Lady Harris straight in the eye. She wasn't sure if the Lady would go so far as to try to kill her but she was ready to go down fighting, despite her magical disadvantage. One thing was certain, she would not speak a single word to either the Lord or the Lady. Who knew what kind of damage that would inflict on her future?

From outside the room, Oliver desperately worked on a plan of action and he knew attacking them would only provoke retaliation. He racked his brains for any spells that might help. He needed a way for them to get away safely and to protect them from spells as they escaped. They needed speed and something to buy them time. Then it dawned on him: Quidditch!

Before he could execute his plan he heard a woman cry " _Crucio_!" and he heard Darcy scream in agony. He winced, almost feeling the pain, and ran with more speed than he knew he possessed to the back door and grabbed the crate of balls and the brooms.

With the element of surprise on his side, Oliver burst into the room and set loose the Bludgers. He tossed one of the brooms to Darcy who was lying on the floor and they mounted them, with Darcy managing to roll onto her broom. After recovering from his shock Lord Harris reacted quickly by blocking the back door exit.

Oliver barely heard Darcy's weak yell of "Orangery!" and knew what she was referring to. They sped off as fast as their brooms would take them. Oliver bellowed _Confringo_ at the wall of glass before them and it shattered into a million shards and allowed them to fly off into the pelting rain of the late afternoon. To ward off any subsequent curses, he cast the Protego spell on both of them.

After they had gone a safe distance, Oliver and Darcy stopped under a tree that offered some protection from the rain.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Oliver quickly asked Darcy, helping her off her broom.

"Physically I'm a little sore but I think I'm psychologically scarred from my great-great-grandmother torturing me," Darcy replied. "I'm still in a state of shock."

Oliver puller her into a hug.

"I've never felt that much pain before in my life," Darcy said, her voice muffled by speaking into Oliver's jumper.

"Why did you go back?" Oliver asked, still holding her.

"I went back to get my engagement ring. I took it off to rub your feet," Darcy answered. "I couldn't leave without it."

She felt Oliver give her a squeeze and kiss the top of her head.

"I don't care what House you're in. You have the heart and courage of a Gryffindor," Oliver told her, tilting her head up to lock eyes with him.

"But I didn't do anything. I just let myself get 'crucioed' by my forebear," Darcy frowned.

"It's not the result that mattered. I saw your face right before you turned to face them. You confronted an armed witch and wizard without fear. That is one of the bravest things I've ever witnessed and that's saying a lot: I've spent some time with Harry Potter," Oliver grinned.

Darcy smiled at him then and kissed him soundly on the lips in gratitude, feeling a bit proud of herself.

"That escape was brilliant, by the way. I will never, ever tease you for being so Quidditch obsessed," Darcy promised.

Oliver chuckled. "I knew Quidditch was good for something."

"Do you have our trunks?" Darcy asked.

Oliver patted his pocket and she nodded in approval.

"Well done, my captain," Darcy congratulated.

"I live to serve you, my lady," Oliver tipped an imaginary hat.

They remounted their brooms and headed as close to London as they dared before dismounting and carrying their brooms with them. They also took the time to change clothes as they were still wearing the scandalous Hogwarts uniforms they had donned that morning. That in itself was an adventure as Oliver had to lace Darcy into her corset.

"Pull harder, damn it!" Darcy growled from their hiding place in a cluster of trees on the outskirts of the city.

"Merlin, how do they get these so tight?" Oliver struggled with the laces.

"Put your foot on my arse and pull," Darcy explained impatiently.

When she didn't feel any tugging, she turned around to see Oliver with an incredulous look on his face. She rolled her eyes and turned back around to hang on to a tree trunk.

"Pull. _Now_ ," she ordered.

It was getting dark and they had to get home to the townhouse.

Oliver put his foot on her backside as she directed and he was finally able to get the corset tight enough. Darcy was about to pull away when he grabbed her arm and pulled her with her back against his chest.

"What are you doing, Wood?"

"I've just wanted to do something for a while now," Oliver informed her.

He put his hands around her waist with his thumbs touching and reached around with his fingers. He was almost able to touch his middle fingers together on the other side of Darcy's torso.

Darcy looked at him questioningly.

"Since the first night you came home from shopping with a corset on, I've wanted to see if I could fit my hands around your waist. I'm not too far from being able to," the Quidditch captain explained, examining the gap between his fingers. "But seeing you in nothing but a corset makes me want to do something else too..." he trailed off and spun her to face him.

He kissed her lips, continued down along her jaw, her neck, the tops of her elevated breasts as he ran his hands lower to cup her backside. Darcy let out a breathy moan but gently pushed him away.

"Really? Are you seriously going to do this here? In a cluster of trees?" Darcy laughed, her breathing a bit laboured from the adrenaline in her veins.

"I will if you keep breathing heavy like that. Are you aware of what happens to your chest when you breathe in a corset?"

Darcy looked down to see her bust strain against its confines as she breathed in.

"Oh, sorry. I'll try to stop," Darcy grinned but sucked in one last large breath just to taunt him.

She tied on her bustle and pulled on her dress which Oliver obligingly did up, only getting distracted a few times by the soft flesh of her neck.

It was night as they hailed a cab to travel the rest of the way to the townhouse, not sure if Lord and Lady Harris had returned there by Apparating. All the windows were dark but they decided to knock, just in case, but not before returning their trunks back to their normal size. Berkley answered and seemed pleased to see them. He ushered them inside, giving an odd look to the brooms but asked no questions. Oliver and Darcy went to Darcy's room, as Oliver peeked in first once he had ascertained that they were empty. Their trunks were delivered shortly by some servants.

"So..." Oliver trailed off, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say. "Goodnight?" he chuckled uneasily. Would Darcy still want to share his bed now that she knew she was safe in her room? He may have figured out how to tell when she was lying but the inner workings of her mind were still a complete mystery to him and while it was part of why he loved her, it was also part of why she made him frustrated.

 **A/N: I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to the Harris family. I don't know anything about the personalities of the family members and feel guilty for portraying Lord and Lady Harris as slightly psychotic but my story called for some drama so they suited my purposes. Sorry!**


	15. Chapter 15 - Explicit Content

-15- Explicit Content

(NB: This scene is why I rated this story M. There is nothing very graphic. If you don't feel comfortable reading this, just skip this chapter. There are no real bombshells in it that you need to know about.)

Unbeknownst to Oliver, Darcy had been hosting an inner debate on the way back to London about how to proceed in the relationship she shared with the Quidditch captain. She knew her hormones were urging her to sleep with him already and she knew that, physically, she was so ready. But she needed to know that her mind was ready too. It would be all too easy to just have sex with him because he was ridiculously fit but because of how much she cared about him – a thought she still had a hard time believing – she wanted her first time with him to _mean_ something beyond a strictly physical level. Darcy Harris did _not_ have one night stands.

On top of all that, she didn't even know if Oliver wanted to sleep with her. She was one hundred percent sure he was into her and clearly enjoyed feeling her up and snogging her senseless but she still felt insecure and that's something she hated. She had always been so sure of herself and her capacity of luring in the opposite sex but this time was very different. She took a deep breath and made up her mind.

"Goodnight," she said with a grin and moved to the adjoining door, holding it open for him; a clear invitation for him to leave. Darcy made sure to gauge Oliver's expression. He hid it well but Darcy thought he looked slightly hurt. She gently shut the door behind him and called for Mary to help her undress. Once she had reached the last layer of clothing, she dismissed her maid. She made sure the maid was downstairs before she pulled the cotton shift off and put on the black underwear that she had been wearing all those weeks ago when she and Oliver had arrived in Victorian London. How so much had changed. _And more change is about to happen tonight_ , Darcy thought as she donned her Hogwarts robe that had been concealed in the depths of her wardrobe.

She paused before the adjoining door, drew a deep breath and exhaled. She was ready, body and mind. She knocked softly.

"Come in," she heard Oliver's voice say.

She grasped the cool brass of the knob and turned. She pushed the door open to reveal a bare-chested Oliver Wood, bathed in golden light from the blazing fireplace, sitting up in bed with the sheets gathered around his waist. He gave her an odd look when he saw her school robe wrapped around her.

Oliver had no idea what she was up to but he liked the smirk she was wearing.

"Uh...can I help you?" he asked, still unsure of her motives.

"That remains to be seen..." Darcy trailed off as she slowly sidled closer to the bed. "How good are you at relieving other people's tension?" she whispered.

His puzzlement didn't last long and Oliver's jaw dropped along with her robes. He had never seen so much of her exposed skin and seeing so very much of it caused a tightening sensation in his groin. He gathered more of the sheets around him to try and hide his arousal.

"I just thought we might not have another chance to be together. Jack the Ripper's last victim is about to turn up and my ancestors might show up at any time...I want you to have me...i-if you'll have me."

The slight stammer was the only indication of nerves that Oliver could grasp. Then again, his brain wasn't quite functioning as it should. He felt a bit lightheaded: blood was rushing elsewhere. She had sidled right next to the bed.

Oliver simply nodded his agreement with her proposal. _As if I'd turn her down_ , he thought. He thought he saw Darcy sigh a breath of relief as she climbed onto the bed next to him and, without preamble, started snogging him.

She pulled away, her face still close to his, and ran one hand down his toned chest and pushed the sheets down to his knees to expose his boxers. Presumably the ones he had travelled in as well.

"What happened to the nightdress?" Darcy whispered hoarsely between kisses trailed down his neck.

"It wasn't really working for me," Oliver breathed and Darcy smiled, continuing her onslaught.

Darcy had attacked him from above and found her hair had been getting in the way when she tried to move her mouth away from his. This wasn't her first rodeo, so to speak, and she'd been on top before but she decided to let Oliver take the lead. She flipped onto her back and pulled Oliver on top of her.

After a little moment more, Darcy started wondering if the Quidditch captain was going to go any further. Just as that thought crossed her mind, she felt Oliver's free hand (the other was supporting him, braced against the bed) move from its spot in her hair down the side of her face, down her neck and finally on her breast. Darcy sighed in pleasure as Oliver caressed it.

Darcy had started to protest when he removed his hand until she felt it moving behind her and unhook her bra. She purposefully arched up against Oliver with a smirk to slide the straps off her shoulders and fling it to the side.

Oliver straddled Darcy so as to free both his hands and ran them over her torso, making the Slytherin squirm with enjoyment. Shortly after his lips joined his roving hands making Darcy bite back a groan. That was all the encouragement Oliver needed to take his kisses lower down to her navel. Darcy threaded her fingers into Oliver's hair and absentmindedly stared wide-eyed at the dark green canopy of the bed relishing the jolts of electricity she felt shooting through her every time Oliver kissed her.

Darcy wanted to move things along so she hooked her fingers under the waistband of Oliver's boxers and tugged. She heard him make a noise of surprise but then manoeuvred a bit to take them all the way off and toss them into the darkened corners of the room. This was soon followed by her underwear.

They were both fully unclothed and took a few seconds to admire each other before the real action began. Oliver, still hovering over Darcy, moved his mouth to her collarbone and plunged. Darcy at once felt it had been too long since she'd been with a man in this capacity and felt a sense of release as Oliver moved inside her over and over again. She matched his rhythm and clutched his back, raking her nails hard against the glorious expanse of toned muscle. This in turn made Oliver groan and bite her shoulder as the pace grew to a feverish pitch.

They reached the climax and Oliver pushed his face into the pillow next to Darcy's head as she buried her face into his neck to try and muffled the scream they could no longer hold back. Finished, Oliver's arms gave out and he collapsed half-way on top of Darcy, his breathing as ragged as hers. A slight sheen of sweat gave them the appearance of glowing in the dying firelight.

"Oh wow. Well done, Wood," Darcy congratulated him with a chuckle, running her fingers through her own hair and feeling the mess that Oliver's hands had left behind.

Oliver made an unintelligible sound echoing her words with his head resting on her shoulder where the impression of his teeth could still be seen.

"Thank you," said Darcy after a moment.

"For what?" Oliver mumbled.

"For the best sex of my life so far," she smiled at him. He smiled back.

"You, Miss Harris, are _very_ welcome and thank you as well. Quite the tiger in the sack though I never really doubted it."

"Anytime," Darcy laughed.

"Really? Anytime at all?" Oliver looked up from his place on her shoulder, smirking.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Cool it Quidditch boy. It was a figure of speech. But...as long as you're still in my good books, we can _definitely_ do this again."

"I look forward to it," Oliver laid his head back down and slung an arm across Darcy's waist, entirely happy with the world.

They pulled the sheets up and lost their satiated selves to the realm of undisturbed sleep.

 **A/N: I really debated about putting this chapter in. I'm not comfortable writing smut and clearly, this chapter falls short of being raunchy. I did try to keep it sort of classy. Oliver and Darcy are only 16/17 years old, after all and relatively inexperienced. I doubt they'd be doing moves from the Kama Sutra.**

 **In the end I decided to keep it because I once read an article about literary sex scenes that said (I'm paraphrasing) you can't hint about sex and lead up to it and not actually put a scene in. Since I do briefly discuss it in my characters thoughts and actions, I decided to include it.**

 **How did I do?**


	16. Chapter 16

-16-

The next morning, Darcy woke and sat bolt upright with a cry of "William Kensington!"

This outburst of course roused Oliver.

"I swear, if you were just having a naughty dream about that wanker..." Oliver growled.

"What? No! Of course not!" Darcy told him. "I think Kensington is the Ripper!"

She explained her revelation to Oliver. Everything fit. When he had visited her after her fainting spell he had told her that he had some medical experience. From the eviscerations of the Whitechapel victims, Jack the Ripper had obvious experience in human anatomy which fit with a doctor.

The night Darcy had snuck out to Whitechapel and almost got raped, Kensington had been the one to save her but what was he doing so near to Mitre Square at the exact same time as the next victims were murdered? It seemed highly unlikely that he was just taking a casual stroll.

He had once told her about his frequent business in the Whitechapel district but really, what sort of business would a high-society man like that have in such a filthy, dodgy area?

"Dear God. Did I actually associate with Jack the Ripper?" Darcy wondered, holding the sheets to her chest, horrified.

Oliver rubbed her back and lightly guided her to lay back down.

"You're right, everything does seem to fit," he scratched the stubble on his jaw. "But let's not jump to conclusions here. Is the _any_ other possible explanation as to why he'd be in Whitechapel?"

Darcy racked her brains for a reason anyone would be down there if they didn't have to be. She came up empty and said as much.

"Either way, we should leave. Now that your great-great-grandparents are back in the country, we have to assume they'll come back here at any time," Oliver reasoned.

Darcy nodded. She grabbed the robe she had dropped beside the bed and slung it on, retrieving her underwear from the floor and left to get dressed. She left the adjoining door open so they could still talk. They could use their dressing screens for modesty. Darcy wasn't quite to the point of just walking around completely naked, after all.

Once dressed, Darcy leaned against the door frame of Oliver's bathroom as he shaved.

"Where should we go?" Oliver asked between swipes of the razor. Darcy knew he meant where they would be living until they could figure out a way home.

"Well, like you said, we can't stay here any longer. I'll be damned if I ask to stay at the Favershams and besides, they would ask too many questions."

"Are there any hotels or something?" Oliver inquired.

"Well, there are but we'd need to have money up front. I don't see how we can stay somewhere like that with no money. Credit could only get us so far," Darcy sighed.

Oliver nodded. "I wish I could conjure some money but even if it weren't illegal, I never learnt how."

"Well, there are some places that are cheap but..." Darcy trailed off. Oliver glanced at her through the mirror with a questioning look that requested clarification.

"They're common lodging houses but they're basically one big room full of people. The people who live there are mostly prostitutes and criminals." The Slytherin made a face. "I want to avoid that kind of place at all costs."

"I don't see how we can stay anywhere else. Maybe we can pawn something to get enough money. I guess I have some nice suits I can sell," Oliver offered.

"And I've got some really nice dresses," Darcy mused, mentally going through her wardrobe.

"We just need to make sure we'll have enough clothes to live in. In case we...we never get back to Hogwarts." He swallowed audibly.

They had both considered the fact that they might never be able to find their way back.

After some breakfast, Darcy bid Mary, Berkley and the other household staff farewell. They had stayed as long as they dared. They ordered their coach, and left with seemingly no baggage as it had been shrunken and placed in Oliver's pocket. They were beyond caring what anyone thought at this point.

"Where to, m'lord?" Asked the driver of the coach.

Oliver looked to Darcy, not sure where they should go.

Darcy answered, "Take us to the nearest lodging house. _Immediately_." Her tone left no room for a response.

She didn't want any questions about it and she didn't know exactly where lodging houses were found. She had seen none when she had gone out for walks.

The carriage took off, the driver using a brisk pace so as not to anger his mistress further. Oliver and Darcy watched as the fine houses and shops gave way to shabbier, ramshackle buildings. There were also an increasing number of homeless beggars huddled in doorways against the early November cold.

Darcy looked over at Oliver worriedly. Where the hell were they going? They had been travelling for quite some time and their situation didn't look too promising. At last, the coach stopped and Darcy and Oliver disembarked and told the driver to drive back to the townhouse. The driver hesitated but in the end obeyed the order from his mistress.

Darcy looked at their surroundings with an unmasked look of distaste on her face. The streets here were of packed dirt unlike the tidy cobblestone she had gotten used to and the smell of smoke, wet earth and dung were the same as when she had taken her first steps in Victorian London all those months ago. She felt Oliver take her hand and she smiled bravely for him.

"Crossingham's Lodging House," Oliver read aloud.

Darcy's head snapped up. Why did that sound so familiar? For a moment, Darcy's mind raced, trying to find why she recognized the name and then froze as the meaning of that name resurfaced. She gripped Oliver's hand tighter.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, looking at her with open concern.

"I know the name of this place. It's where almost all of the Ripper's victims lived," she whispered, gazing wide-eyed at Oliver. "We're in Whitechapel."

Without a word, the couple walked further on to find different lodgings. It didn't take long to find another one, though this was no better.

After inquiring about the price for a night, Darcy and Oliver went about pawning one of Darcy's dresses. She knew she couldn't part with her wedding dress but sacrificed a pale blue gown to the cause. She found a buyer who looked rather like a well-off prostitute and sold it for far less than what it was worth but it was enough for room and board for three nights. Darcy only hoped that she and Oliver wouldn't need to be there for that long.

Darcy and Oliver spent most of their time in a secluded alley trying out different spells to get back home. Nothing had worked so far. Without a counter-curse, they were at a loss as to how to get back home. They pondered on the pros and cons of trying to find the Leaky Cauldron. The evening had fallen fast and they opted to head inside. Despite being accompanied by a man and the fact that she was not a prostitute, Darcy still wanted to get inside. Her skin crawled at being so near Jack the Ripper's hunting grounds.

Just as the pair was about to head inside the lodging house, Darcy's eye caught sight of the last person she wanted to see: William Kensington; the man who would be Jack the Ripper. Darcy tugged on Oliver's arm and pointed to the well-dressed man at the end of the alley. Under the streetlamp, they couldn't tell if he was looking their way but they hid in the shadow provided, pressed up against the wall of the alleyway. Kensington walked off into the fog.

Darcy immediately started in the same direction Kensington had taken.

"What the hell are you doing, Harris?!" Oliver hissed.

"I need to know if he's the Ripper," Darcy stated. She knew it was the stupidest thing to do but she'd never be able to live with herself if she knew the identity of the Ripper and did nothing to stop the last attack from happening. Consequences be damned. She had a moral obligation to try and stop the last gruesome murder.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with your self-preservation instincts? They seemed to have been working fine for nearly seven years at Hogwarts and now they seem to have vanished. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you're _trying_ to get yourself killed."

"Well, you're the one with the wand. Cast a Disillusionment Charm and let's follow him. He's getting away!" she whispered frantically.

Oliver did not look convinced.

Darcy explained her concern about letting a known murderer walk free. Oliver tried to tell her not to meddle with history and all the inherent dangers of doing so. In the end, Darcy compromised.

"If you cast the Disillusionment Charm, we'll follow him. _Just_ to find out if he's the Ripper," she added at Oliver's unimpressed look. "Then we can come back here. It'll be just like we never saw him. I promise that's all I want to do."

Cue Darcy Harris' Patented Injured Puppy Dog Look. Oliver exhaled a weary sigh.

"Fine. But as soon as I say we have to leave, we leave. You're not allowed to argue," Oliver stated with finality.

"Deal. You're sexy when you take charge," Darcy teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Oliver cast the charm under his breath as they were still concealed in the alley. They let the feeling of cold running over them finish, ascertaining the charm was effective. They took off after Kensington, trying to be as silent as possible. Darcy cursed the swishing fabric of her dress, holding it up to try and stifle the sound.

They came to a halt only a few streets away as they saw Kensington leaning over a woman who was clearly a prostitute. Darcy put a hand over her mouth, successfully willing herself not to gasp. She knew that the Ripper's last victim, Mary Kelly, was a prostitute but had no idea what she looked like. All of the ghastly pictures of her corpse showed a hacked and mangled face. How was she supposed to save Mary if she didn't even know who she was?

As the witch and wizard watched in the misty light of the streetlamp, they heard Kensington speak: "Hand it over," he warned, using a harsh tone Darcy hadn't heard him use among her society peers.

The woman looked to shake her head in refusal.

"You _filthy_ harlot. Who do you think finds a great many of your clients?"

He raised his hand and struck her. She gave a small yelp and, hunched over, dug into her pockets with a shaking hand to withdraw some money. She handed it over to Kensington who condescendingly patter her on the head.

"There. Was that so hard?" he intoned using the same unctuous charm he had used on Darcy when he had called to inquire after her health. Darcy shuddered.

"The man's a bloody pimp," Oliver muttered.

Darcy fought a strong urge to beat that two-faced, pompous asshole. She remained silent and still, grabbing Oliver's arm to hold herself back. They watched as he hailed a cab and drove off, heading out of Whitechapel.

"Well. He's certainly a right git but I don't think he's a serial killer," Oliver told Darcy as they headed back to their lodgings.

"Hmph. Well, you were right about him. You saw his true self while I was fooled by his charm. But I still think you were jealous," Darcy smirked.

Oliver just rolled his eyes in reply but didn't deny it.

Another revelation hit Darcy on the way back. "Of course. The man that almost raped me," Oliver tightened his jaw at this, "He said he hadn't realized I was one of Kensington's. He must have meant he though Kensington was my pimp. Ugh."

Oliver just tightened his arm around Darcy's shoulders.

The first two days and nights they had spent in the lodging house had passed uneventfully, apart from the shrieks. They often heard shouts of men in intoxicated rages, raucous laughter, raunchy songs being sung and, worst of all, screams of female terror often sounding like "murder".

Darcy held tight to Oliver and neither was able to sleep. Exhaustion didn't help their search to find a way back to the proper time period. They were starting to become desperate. Oliver had even suggesting doing something to threaten the exposure of the magical world to the Muggles thereby getting magical authorities to intervene. Darcy thought it best to use that as a last resort. Still, it might be the only way they had to get out of the Victorian era.

They were running out of money and they were contemplating selling off some more clothing as they sat in a dimly lit public house. The last thing they wanted was to spend any more time in Whitechapel with a psychopath on the loose. Oliver and Darcy overheard a conversation about how this was the coldest November 9th ever seen.

"It's November 9th?" Darcy asked Oliver. She wanted to confirm she had heard the right date.

"Seems like it," Oliver played with the fabric of one of his tailored suits, planning on selling it.

"Then it's tonight. Tonight is the night that Mary Kelly is going to die," Darcy said barely above a whisper.

Oliver stared at her. "Are you sure?"

Darcy merely nodded. She remembered the date because it was her birthday. She would be turning seventeen that day and Mary Kelly would get no older.

"I feel awful. _This_ feels awful," Oliver gestured around him. "This whole situation is terrible. I know we can't do anything about this. It has to happen."

The anguish in his voice was obvious. Darcy put her hand on top of his atop the table, giving it a slight squeeze, staring into her glass of gin forlornly.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Oliver asked quietly.

"Apart from Mary Kelly's imminent death I was just thinking how much I miss 1999," she matched his quiet tone to make sure no one overheard. "I want to go home. I want to go back to Hogwarts. I want to be just another seventh year so bad that it almost hurts."

"I promise you we'll find a way to get back home. I swear it." Oliver assured.

Darcy sighed. Night had fallen so she and Oliver decided to head into the large open room where all the lodgers slept.

The hours passed in the darkness punctuated by snores and coughs from the ill. Darcy hoped a plague wasn't currently happening. She doubted whether she'd even slept for 20 minutes altogether. Oliver didn't seem to be faring much better. However it was only when some grunting and panting noises were heard somewhere off in the darkness of the room that Darcy's mouth dropped open. She didn't have to see what was going on to know what was happening. _Bloody prostitutes_ , Darcy thought.

"This is intolerable!" Darcy ground out next to Oliver's ear. Darcy could feel Oliver shaking. "Are you _laughing_?"

Suddenly, Darcy too felt like howling with laughter. The sleep deprivation was getting to her.

"We need to get out of here. Now. I don't care if we have to sleep on the front porch," Darcy told Oliver.

Without laughing out loud too much, he agreed and they got up quietly and left, managing not to step on anyone sleeping on the floorboards.

Once outside they breathed the cold night air and allowed themselves to laugh.

"Of all the places to shag..." Darcy chuckled, shaking her head.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling shriek that sounded an awful like "Oh, murder!" was heard from down the street. Without thinking, Darcy tried to take off in that direction. Oliver barely managed to hold her back. Darcy struggled to extricate herself from his arms but she fought in vain. She couldn't escape the Keeper's clutches.

"I have to get over there! I have to save her!" Darcy gasped, fighting off tears of frustration.

"You can't. Please Darcy. _Please_ ," he pleaded softly, now rocking her gently. She stopped her struggle but felt like hyperventilating. That poor woman was being disemboweled at that very moment and Darcy could do nothing to stop it. She despised feeling so powerless against the forces of destiny.

"Can we get away from here. Please?" she asked Oliver. He looked undecided.

"It's dangerous out here. I think we should go back inside," Oliver looked towards the lodging house.

"Please," she pleaded, "I can't be anywhere near Jack the Ripper right now. Or ever. We know he's over there," she pointed down the street where the scream came from. "Let's just go the other way." Oliver relented and they took off down the opposite end of the street. Still, the Gryffindor kept his wand at the ready in his hand.

Darcy numbly walked beside Oliver, hardly registering her surroundings. She occupied her mind with counting the address numbers on the buildings they passed. 22, 24, 26, 28... _26?_ It hit her like a bolt of lightning and she stopped walking.

 _That was Mary Kelly's address. I visited it on a Jack the Ripper tour just this summer. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._ Oliver realized Darcy was no longer at his side and he looked back to where she stood. She seemed to be staring at a nearby house and kept muttering '26'. The scream they had heard hadn't been Mary Kelly at all.

 **A/N: I read about the accommodations in public houses (or pubs) at the time and some of this occurred regularly. I couldn't not put it in; I found it way too funny and awkward to omit.**


	17. Chapter 17

-17-

"What? What is it, Harris?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle Darcy as he gaze was frozen on one specific brick building. She acted as if she hadn't heard him. She started walking towards the unassuming lodging as if in a trance. She tried to stop, her addled brain telling her she was walking towards danger and probably death but her feet didn't get the message. Oliver tried to call her back but she ignored him. He sounded fuzzy and far away. The roaring in her ears took precedence.

Suddenly, her sense returned to her before she was about to peer into the window. _What the bloody hell is wrong with me?!_ Darcy screamed to herself. She shook her head to clear it just as the door was wrenched open. There, in the doorway, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man. And more than that, he was absolutely covered in blood from his face and collar to his shirt cuffs.

Darcy stared into the face of Jack the Ripper in sheer terror. There was no mistaking this man. He held the fabled knife that still had bits of gore stuck to it. Darcy felt like retching, knowing what stood just beyond the door. Ironically, the feet that carried her numbly towards the dwelling now refused to budge.

Jack's entire body language shouted menace. His dark eyes gleamed below the shadow of the brim of his top hat. His lips grew into a smirk that made Darcy's heart rate increase tenfold with fear.

"So you've come to stare at old Jack, have you?" his voice was as velvet, smooth and inviting. She could feel his eyes burning into her. "I daresay you'll never stare at anything again after I've plucked those pretty eyes from their sockets."

Rooted to the spot, Darcy felt a scream bubbling up from her throat.

"Darcy! _Run_!" Oliver bellowed loudly enough to make her jump and snap out of her frozen state.

She turned to run towards her salvation but felt herself held back. Jack had managed to grip some of her hair. Darcy shook her head wildly to free herself from the killer and, while he never let go, she tore away from him leaving a small chunk of her hair in his grasp.

She had only taken a few steps when she felt an agonizing stab of pain she had only ever felt once in her life: the Cruciatus Curse. Her back arched painfully while white-hot pain ran through every muscle and sinew in her body. She collapsed and lay in the middle of the damp street, numbly looking at the stars but not truly seeing them.

She slowly turned her head to where Jack the Ripper now stood. The bloody knife that had once occupied his hand was not replaced by a wand. Darcy nearly sobbed with resignation. How could she possibly fight off a wizard with no wand.

Suddenly, another figure flew into her field of vision, brandishing a wand. Oliver and Jack faced off for what felt like hours, neither moving or even breathing. Then, Jack took off into the fog and darkness.

"Wood! He can't get away!" Darcy choked out, feeling the sensation returning to her limbs.

"We are not going after him!" Oliver told her, helping her up. "Are you alright?" he asked, appraising her.

"I'm fine. Let's go!" Darcy took off down the street where Jack had disappeared.

Oliver cursed loudly having no choice but to chase after Darcy. When he caught up to her she was flattened against a building, motionless. He did likewise.

What he saw made his blood run cold. A woman was sprawled on the pavement as a man leaned over her: Jack the Ripper. The knife was back in his hand and the woman twitched. Oliver thought her dead until he heard her soft pleas for mercy. Jack chuckled darkly and raised the knife as moonlight glinted off the cold steel.

"He can't kill again! Mary Kelly was supposed to be the last one! He should have disappeared after that!" Darcy hissed, gripping the brick wall behind her.

Suddenly, Oliver knew what he had to do.

Just as the knife sliced downward, Oliver cast the Stunning Spell. Jack's knife clattered to the ground as the man's form stiffened and fell to the wet pavement.

Darcy shouted "Run!" and the Ripper's would-be victim got up and ran like the devil.

Darcy and Oliver walked over to the supine form.

"What do we do now?" Darcy asked, staring at the fiend.

"We have to make sure he never kills again," Oliver said, "But we can't end his life even if he deserves it. I wouldn't be able to kill someone. Ever."

"Obliviate him," Darcy said after a moment.

"What would that do?" Oliver asked.

"If we deal him a strong Obliviate spell, he won't be able to remember the crimes nor who he is. At this point in time, he'll probably be picked up by the police and considered insane then locked away for good."

Oliver nodded. He was about to cast the spell but he had taken too long.

Having recovered from the Stunning Spell, Jack leapt up with astonishing speed and pulled out a wand from his suit jacket and pointed it at the pair. Darcy froze in horror.

"You're a _wizard_?" Darcy managed to choke out.

"Surprise," Jack muttered with a wry smile that made Darcy shudder.

"Then why the knife?" Darcy had no idea why she was speaking when she should be trying to find an escape.

"That would have been incredibly dull. There is no comparison to feeling the steel slice the soft flesh and watch the blood run. I have never experienced something so visceral with a wand. However, I have no qualms about killing the pair of you stone dead at this moment."

He raised his wand.

Darcy grabbed Oliver's hand and closed her eyes. She heard Oliver yell _Everte Satum_ and felt a wave of pressure forcefully push her backwards. She had been flung out of the circle of the nearest gas lamp and watched events unfold.

Oliver stood with his wand hand outstretched and watched his good work. Jack the Ripper had been thrown hard against the brick wall behind him after a rather rough flip through the air.

Jack still gripped his wand but he appeared to be unconscious. Oliver slowly, carefully walked over to Jack's prone position, wand at the ready, and nudged him. No reaction was made. Oliver kicked a little harder and when no movement was made, he was convinced that Jack really was senseless.

"At least I can say Draco Malfoy taught me something when he dueled with Harry Potter last year," he smirked, looking over his shoulder for Darcy.

Not seeing her, he quickly scanned the area for Darcy and saw her on the ground.

"Are you okay!?" he asked, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm just happy not to have been on the other side of your wand! You knocked Jack out!" Darcy accepted Oliver's proffered hand to help her up.

"Sorry, I didn't have time to warn you to brace yourself," Oliver apologized.

Just as she regained her feet a shout rang out down the darkened street.

"Halt! Don't move!"

A pair of officers ran up to the scene.

"You there!" the stouter of the pair pointed at Oliver who still held his wand. "You'll have to come with us."

Darcy grabbed Oliver's arm. "Why?" she asked.

"Come now, surely you know about using magic in plain sight of Muggles," he said quietly, looking around.

Realization dawned on Darcy that these were officers enforcing the International Statute of Secrecy set in place to safeguard the magical community from exposure to the Muggle world. It also meant she and Oliver were in deep trouble.

"But he's the one who did it!" Darcy pointed at Jack's still unconscious form. "He's Jack the Ripper!"

"Jack the Ripper, eh?" the slender one said, walking over gingerly. He pried Jack's wand from his fingers, muttered a spell, and called over his partner.

"Look here, Alphard! This is the wand that killed Clara Jordan and Muriel Kirk."

"Well well, so it is Hamish!" said Alphard, "We'll have to lock him up." He turned to Oliver and Darcy. "This one here had been using the Killing Curse left and right all over London, and in plain sight too! It's Azkaban for old Jack for a _long_ time."

Darcy had never heard about these victims in any book but it made sense since the two had been killed with Avada Kedavra.

"Well done you two," said Hamish, "But you'll still have to come with us."

At this, Hamish levitated Jack ahead of him and took Oliver by the scruff of his shirt. Alphard grabbed Darcy by the arm. The small party marched into a dark alley, no doubt to Apparate to the Ministry of Magic for a trial and sentencing.

"Wait! You don't understand! I accidentally cast a spell that brought us to this time," Oliver tired explaining, "We're from the year 1999!"

"Ha! 1999? That's impossible. Save your breath and tell it to the Wizengamot," Alphard said.

Almost to the point of panicking at the word "Wizengamot", Oliver freed himself and ran back out the alley. He stopped briefly, ready to run back in for Darcy if she couldn't get away. He heard a scuffle and suddenly Darcy came flying out of the alley, pursued by Alphard.

Darcy hurtled towards Oliver as fast as her legs could take her and barely managed to register his words as she saw him stretch out his wand. Prepared to escape, Oliver roared the spell that had started this whole adventure. _Historia Preferentum_. Instantly, a flash of purple light engulfed the scene, briefly lighting up the area in blinding violet light. Darcy clung to Oliver for dear life and felt Oliver's arms around her as she felt the painful grasp of an invisible hand clawing at her insides. In her shock, she thought it Alphard might have grabber her at the last second. She closed her eyes tight and held on even after she felt her feet hit stone as she collapsed on top of Oliver. Thankfully, Alphard had been left behind.

 **A/N: And so we meet dear old Jack. Not much of a fighter but really, he preyed on defenseless women so what can you expect?**


	18. Chapter 18

-18-

Silence. Pure silence engulfed her. She couldn't bear to look. Was she dead? Had Jack somehow managed to kill her? Had she been stabbed? She didn't feel any pain but that wasn't much of an indication. She still held fistfuls of Oliver's suit – one lapel had been ripped off – as she lay on top of him. She could feel him breathing. At least he wasn't dead. She raised her head from the crook of Oliver's neck and cracked one eye open. What she saw shocked her nervous system almost as much as seeing Jack the Ripper in the flesh.

The entire population of Hogwarts stood in a circle around her and Oliver, staring in open-mouthed surprise. She looked back down at Oliver and he seemed as stunned as she felt. They locked eyes and started laughing. They surely looked like lunatics, laughing with relief and joy at being back until they ran out of oxygen and their stomachs cramped. By the time they had finished, still lying of the flagstone floor of the foyer of Hogwarts, the crowd surrounding them erupted into raucous exclamations that was so normal and welcome to the Slytherin and Gryffindor that they didn't care what was being said about them. They were safe and they were home.

They sat up as McGonagall and Snape rushed towards them to pull them apart. Darcy renewed her hold on Oliver and refused to let go, wrapping her arms around him. He held her with the same intensity. He placed one hand behind her head and pulled her flush against him in a heated kiss. Immediately, the noise in the hall stopped. Not a sound was heard except for the heavy breathing from the still exhilarated pair on the floor. Not long after, the students erupted once more into a frenzy of sounds. Some of outrage, some of incredulity, all of them disbelieving what they were witnessing.

Later, Darcy and Oliver would hear from their peers what they had seen. To the students of Hogwarts it had seemed instantaneous. First was the duel. Darcy had been disarmed and had lunged at Oliver to tackle him, intent on pummelling him no doubt. Then an explosion of purple light followed by Darcy on top of Oliver wearing funny garments and then, to everyone's immeasurable shock, snogging each other senseless.

As it had turned out, their theory on time had been wrong and they couldn't have been happier about it. Time _had_ stopped when they had gone back in time. According to everyone, the events were perfectly in order. It was assumed Oliver had cast some unknown spell to change their clothing but all were still puzzled as to why one would do that in a duel. Oliver still marveled at how he used the same spell and ended up in 1999 again until Darcy reminded him how that year had become her favourite time period. Therefore, they were transported once more to Darcy's favourite era and precise year.

For one terrifying moment, Oliver feared that Darcy would just revert to her old ways and deny any attraction between them. When Oliver asked Darcy about this possibility, she vehemently refused to deny her Muggle parentage any longer and publicly held his hand as often as possible in public displays of affection that left no one in doubt of the pair being a couple .She would never have been able to do it had she not been emotionally supported by Oliver.

It was also obvious from that point on that the biggest rivalry between Darcy the Slytherin and Oliver the Gryffindor had now become the biggest romance Hogwarts had seen in a long time. According to the gossips, it was the biggest romantic story Hogwarts had _ever seen_.

It came as no surprise to Darcy Harris when she was shunned by the vast majority of her House. She couldn't deny that it hurt her greatly and her ego suffered a vast deal but with Oliver's support, it became bearable. She also discovered that some of her old friends stood by her and she also made a few new friends among her peers though many were doubtful about her at first. Some boys and girls in Slytherin now dared to speak to her and told her how glad they were that she had come clean about her heritage. As it turns out, two other Slytherins, one in first year and one in fifth year, were Muggle-born and countless others were half-bloods. Darcy had unwittingly started a trend of truthfulness.

Romantically, she and Oliver had also started a trend in inter-house dating. Couples who were forced to be together secretly because of their Houses – especially Slytherin and Gryffindor – had started coming out of the woodwork. New ones started up as well. No one would have ever guessed such attraction existed among such animosity.

That's not to say that everyone was happy with these changes. Death threats were made involving the Sorting Hat for betraying Salazar Slytherin's legacy. To no one's surprise, it was Slytherin House that hated Darcy for starting all of this. For the most part, Oliver was convinced it was because they had been fooled by her for years. Of course, most stated vehemently that they had known about her parentage all along and really, it was obvious that she wasn't one of them. However, no one could come up with a believable reason as to why they hadn't told anyone about it. Darcy had been sent hexes for a month after the incident. Fortunately, she only had to go to the hospital wing once. Darcy felt she had gotten off lucky.

Maintaining their relationship was a struggle for both Darcy and Oliver. Hogsmead visits and stealing kisses between the library stacks could only get you so far. They refused to go to the Astronomy Tower as that was far to cliché. They had even tried to use the Room of Requirement but nixed that idea almost immediately. When Darcy had thought of a room where she and her boyfriend could sleep together they were horrified by the result. They room had been transformed into what looked like the set of a 1970's porn studio replete with orange shag carpeting and a vibrating circular bed. They hadn't been back since. In the end, they resorted to the Quidditch pitch: In the locker room, in the showers. In the stands if they were feeling brave (these had to be quick as the risk of Dementors was always in the back of one's mind).

Eventually, the buzz had died down. Darcy had made real friends with some of the Slytherins and with most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team much to Flint's outrage. She especially liked the Weasley twins and they had congratulated Oliver on having snagged the loveliest witch in school.

"Right. Go and inflate her ego. It's not big enough already," he had jokingly lamented.

Darcy had tried to keep her ego in check for Oliver's sake but really, her chief flaw had always been and would always be vanity and the twins were experts at exploiting it if they ever needed a favour from her such as playing a part in a prank against some of the nasty Slytherins.

The rest of the school year passed rather uneventfully after the hubbub of that first fateful duel. NEWTs were written. Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup (the celebrations had lasted for _weeks_ and Darcy had even been smuggled into the Gryffindor Common Room to be with her boyfriend). Graduation was held. The summer had come and Darcy and Oliver were still going strong. The couple had spent most of it together.

They had been in Darcy's room at her home just enjoying being carefree teenagers when Darcy pulled out a book she hadn't read in quite some time. It was her worn, Muggle copy of _Jack the Ripper:_ _A Biography of the Most Notorious Serial Killer of All Time._ She flopped onto her bed, skimming through it and came to the last chapter outlining possible suspects. Her eyes widened as she read. She read it once more, this time aloud for Oliver's benefit:

" _Over the centuries, theorists have proposed countless possibilities on the identity of Jack the Ripper. Some Ripperologists suggest that Jack was actually Jill: a midwife in the Whitechapel district. Others even claim that Lewis Carroll, renowned author of Alice in Wonderland, was behind the murders. Despite all of the guesswork one event remains the biggest mystery of all._

" _On the night of the murder of Jack's last victim, just outside the house where Mary Kelly's body was found, a man had been found slumped senseless against a brick wall after a flash of orange light filled the dark street. Witnesses claim to have seen this man, presumably Jack the Ripper, engage in an altercation with a young man and woman. Officers were reportedly at the scene yet, curiously, never submitted an official report. If these eyewitness accounts are to be believed, the altercation was followed by a blinding flash of purple light, thought to be the explosion of a gaslight lamp, followed by the disappearance of the unknown man and woman and the unconscious state of the man._

" _This man is thought to be Jack the Ripper. However, due to missing police documents, these accounts cannot be confirmed. The unconscious man did hold in his hand a fistful of long red hair purportedly belonging to the young woman who had vanished at the scene. He was taken into police custody on the spot and was never seen again._

 _"Was the young couple at the wrong place at the wrong time? Were they even present at the scene? Was Jack the Ripper framed by this couple? Should Jack the Ripper's work be attributed to two people? We may never have a definitive answer. Only one fact is certain: whatever happened on the night of November 9_ _th_ _, 1888, Jack the Ripper never resurfaced and never killed again."_

Darcy stared at Oliver, astonished. She absently rubbed the spot on her scalp where her hair had been ripped out. It has since healed but still worried her to think about what had almost happened. She pulled her hand out only to get her – now antique – engagement ring caught on her hair. She had taken to wearing it on her right hand with her heirloom signet ring. She gazed at the rings with a smile.

Oliver plunked himself down on the bed next to her. "You know, Harris, I think someday we'll have to put that ring back on your left hand." His lips had formed his signature cheeky grin.

"And why's that, Wood?" she asked absently, still admiring the ring.

Oliver just smirked at her. Darcy looked over and realized that no answer was forthcoming. No answer was needed. She grinned back and tackled her someday-fiancé to the bed to kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

 **A/N: That's all folks! I really do hope you enjoyed this. It was a labour of love and I enjoyed writing it. I still lie in bed at night and wonder if I should have added this or that but this end product is what is the culmination of ten years of writing so I can finally say it is done and finished.**

 **Just a quick note: I want to thank the fanfic community for making Oliver Wood consistently Scottish. The books never say he's a Scot but Sean Biggerstaff was and it's stayed that way in the public consciousness so thanks for that. That accent is just too sexy to ignore.**

 **A review would be lovely!**


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